


things i chose (to give away)

by RiddleAfar (Snyuuk)



Category: Fruits Basket, Fruits Basket (Anime 2001), Fruits Basket (Anime 2019), Fruits Basket - Takaya Natsuki (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bullying, Depression, Drama & Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Kyo POV, Kyo-centric, M/M, Rating to Change, Sexism, seriously kiri don't read this, unrelenting angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snyuuk/pseuds/RiddleAfar
Summary: High school ends, and Kyo is granted his freedom from the cage. It’s nothing like what he expected, but it’s all he has now.As the year progresses, he tries not to wonder if it came at a higher price than he was willing to pay.
Relationships: Sohma Kyou/Sohma Yuki
Comments: 76
Kudos: 123





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Two-ish(?) years ago I asked Crystal what she wanted for her birthday and in response she said “angst.” 
> 
> So. 
> 
> Hi everyone. I’m back in my beloved wheelhouse. My very, very gay wheelhouse. This fic was originally meant to be one of those very long one shots (with the titles formatted like this). Well, the title remained, but I eventually had to concede that this was getting a bit long for a single oneshot. (Surprise, surprise.) 
> 
> But! I thought it would be fun to experiment with some shorter chapter lengths, especially after the behemoth that is Pursuit. And because this was originally a one-shot, most of this fic is already written! Hopefully this leads to a much quicker update schedule as this fic progresses.
> 
> Up top I want to say that this is some pretty unapologetic angst. If you’ve read any of my previous fics, I hope it hasn’t gone unnoticed that I like to try and interject humor here and there to keep the mood from being brought down too much. This fic does not do that lmao. I don’t know why I feel the need to disclose this, other than we’re all in some downtrodden times already, and I definitely don’t want to add to that if it’s not The Vibe you’re looking for right now. 
> 
> Last thing I’ll mention is that this fic will eventually come across some E-rated content, and the rating will change when this happens. Until then, enjoy me taking some narrative SFW sucker punches at Kyo. 
> 
> Last last thing I’ll mention (but for real this time) is that the fic title comes from the song [Am I Alive by From Indian Lakes](https://youtu.be/2GtOiOfj-sM), which is the one and only song I can listen to while working on this fic. 
> 
> tl;dr Happy extremely late birthday, Crystal! Hope you enjoy what you’ve manifested.

Kyo doesn’t want to be here.

He feels like a brat for thinking as much. The party in every sense is for him. This is the banquet that he’s always wanted, yearned for. This is the acceptance he’s been clawing at for years— _centuries_ if the restless hum of the cat inside him is any indication.

He sits at the center of the table in the inner-most estate of Sohma House. He’s only been here once before. As both a boy and a monster, with his beads in Akito’s fingers and with his flesh melting off his bones like sludge. He looked back at Akito with eyes too far apart and could barely hear the young god’s words over the heavy, panted breathing of a creature that made freedom feel like something sickly.

At the time, he didn’t get a very good look at the estate.

Now that he’s here, sitting in the middle of his cousins, listening to them chatter and talk over each other, his disconnected presence has a chance to look around the very place he’s always wanted to be. Especially since looking anyone in the eye right now seems to take the same energy as climbing a mountain with a ninety degree slope.

It’s big, sure. The ceilings are high, and the tatami is clean as if it’s brand new. The table, covered in food and drinks, is made of expensive red pine. There’s antique scrolls hanging on the walls, and exquisite porcelain on decorative side tables. He almost thinks he shouldn’t be trusted here, but even just the thought of that makes his heart clench futilely for something that isn’t there.

In the end, it’s just a room. No matter how high the ceiling is, it seems impossible that it wouldn’t get stuffy in here.

Kyo stands in a way that he hopes isn’t too abrupt for the atmosphere of the celebration—again, a celebration for _him_. He knows it’s for him because even Tohru is allowed to be here. And true to form, the Sohmas seem to flock to her like bugs to a bright porch light in a humid, starless, summer midnight.

Her eyes close when she smiles for most of the night.

“Kyo! Where are you going?” Momiji cries out over a conversation with Ayame, Ritsu, and Kagura.

“I’m just getting some air, relax,” Kyo says, waving a hand over his shoulder. He locks eyes with Tohru but can’t stand to look at her for more than a few seconds, especially when her expression crests into something too honest for what this night calls for.

He slides open the shoji doors and lets the chill of the night time air wash over him. He’s been sweating, apparently, and he can feel it when the almost-springtime breeze pricks at his skin with icy needles. It’s too warm in the room, too crowded. And Akito’s eyes haven’t seemed to leave him once. He just needs a fucking second to breathe.

He sits at the edge of the balcony, listening to the conversation behind his back—how it mutes and rolls in dull waves with the added barrier of the wall. It’s only a moment later that the conversation swells back to life as the door slides open, and Kyo looks up to see he has company he doesn’t expect.

Yuki stands in the doorway, half in, half out, looking down at Kyo who’s sitting at the edge of the balcony like he’s planted there. Soft, warm light licks the side of Yuki’s apprehensive expression, and with a quick glance behind him, he finally closes the door and sits next to Kyo a considerable distance away.

Kyo looks forward, eyebrows pinched with tension. He doesn’t look at Yuki.

They sit there for a moment, before Kyo finally rolls his eyes.

“What do you want?” He asks, gruff.

“I’m not sure,” Yuki says. “It just feels like I should say something.”

Kyo can tell Yuki is trying to keep the mood light. The lilt in his voice and the approachability of his posture make that very clear. But Kyo isn’t having it.

“I guess I wanted to say congratulations,” Yuki finally admits. “None of us wanted to see you locked up.”

Kyo finally looks at Yuki through a glare before training his eyes back on the dirt below.

“Yeah right,” he says.

Because despite everything, he’s still mad at Yuki.

And it bothers Kyo that Yuki doesn’t do anything other than give him an irritated sigh.

“I’ll be honest, Kyo, I don’t have a lot of interest in being your rival anymore,” Yuki says, and Kyo can tell he’s got that hard edge in his voice when he’s trying to stop himself from getting defensive. “Can’t I be happy for you?”

Kyo still doesn’t look at him. Kyo still needs a fucking minute from this party. Kyo still doesn’t want to fucking be here. And he especially doesn’t want to be here with Yuki.

“Be whatever you want, I don’t give a shit,” Kyo says lamely. But it’s enough for Yuki, who gives an exasperated but contented exhale through his nose. The gentility of his voice seems violent to Kyo, but he’s too tired to pick a fight.

“Maybe in the future the three of us can meet again,” Yuki says, as if it’s the most passive comment in the world. “For dinner or something.”

Kyo turns his head to Yuki, glare still slitting his expression. Yuki rolls his eyes again when he realizes that’s the only response he’s going to get out of Kyo. He stands to leave, but before he heads back inside he tosses a soft “just think about it,” over his shoulder.

As if Kyo is this chronically childish lump of anger.

That’s one thing Kyo definitely won’t miss. That fucking arrogance that Yuki carries around as if it’s tethered to his joints. That goddamn holier-than-thou attitude. That specific brand of condescension that simmers low in Kyo’s constantly queasy stomach.

Kyo heads back inside, because even he knows he can’t spend the rest of the night not attending a party that is being thrown for him in the first place.

Tohru gives a toast at the end of the night. The table goes quiet as all the zodiacs look at her from where she’s sitting across from Kyo. She lifts her cup of soda and sits her mouth into a smile.

“I’m just…” She stops, tears welling in her eyes as she looks at Kyo, almost desperately. Her smile stays firm, even as her lips struggle not to quiver. “I’m so happy, Kyo. I—I can’t wait for this… this beautiful life you’re going to live. F—Freely.”

Tears cascade down her face, gathering at her chin and plopping onto the table. The others laugh and tease Tohru, smiling at how easily emotional she becomes. Kagura throws an arm around her in a squeezing hug. Tohru pulls a laugh up to her lips. Her eyes are still closed.

The party ends, and Kyo has his whole life ahead of him.

——

He goes somewhere far away.

Deep in the mountains of the Yamagata prefecture, there’s a dojo master that Kazuma knows from his youth. Kyo is adamant about not staying in Tokyo, and when Kazuma asks if he’ll return, Kyo gives a hurried “not if I can help it.”

Kazuma gives him a strange look. Some mixture of disappointment and pity, Kyo thinks. He expects as much. It was only months ago that Kyo talked about how he would want to take over Kazuma’s dojo one day. How he’d want to be his heir, want to be his son, want to carry his legacy. Of course, this was before he ever knew he’d actually secure his freedom.

Things have changed now that the world is this dangerous, tangible thing. Kazuma must know this. Kyo isn’t going to entertain whatever betrayal he might be feeling when Kyo is going through the same damn thing.

The trek to the mountain dojo from the city is a four hour train ride, another three hours on a bus, and a half a day’s hike. Shishou accompanies him to the mountain path where Kyo is meeting a disciple of the dojo who will guide him the rest of the way.

When they arrive, there’s a man waiting at the mouth of the trail that sits in a clearing. He has a bright disposition and looks to be only a couple years older than Kyo.

Before Kyo can protest, Kazuma wraps him in a long, forceful hug. Kyo shouldn’t be surprised by the affection. Kazuma knows what it looks like when Kyo is running away.

When he’s released from his Shishou’s grip, Kyo turns away and heads towards a new life buried far and away.

“It’s not too bad of a hike, but it’s pretty long,” says the man as they begin their journey.

Kyo grunts and follows the man wordlessly.

Even though he feels Kazuma’s eyes on him until they’re obscured by the winding branches of the surrounding beech trees, Kyo doesn’t looked back once.

The guy he walks with won’t shut up for the first 30 minutes, and he already knows this is going to take some adjusting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me for more brooding stares in the dark abyss: 
> 
> [Tumblr](https://mistergrass.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mistergrass1)


	2. Chapter 2

Kyo does not develop a good reputation in his new home.

Besides himself, there are three other disciples that live in the dojo. Two are men, Taiyo and Kioshi, and one, Hayami, is a woman.

Taiyo is the one who met and led Kyo back to the dojo and is the newest disciple besides Kyo (though he’s still been dedicated to the dojo for nearly four years already). He’s personable, if a bit too chatty, and tends to be scolded for his poor posture after a long day of training. When he eats, he chews with his mouth wide open and their master quips it’s because Taiyo’s never learned to keep his mouth shut.

He’s far cry away from Kioshi—the straight man to Taiyo’s _boke_ -like character at times. He says very little, which at first creates a camaraderie between him and Kyo when they wake up early to stretch. When he does speak it brings out his rougher character. He’s opinionated and stern, and he walks a delicate line between being serious and arrogant. When he’s tasked with showing Kyo around the dojo, he starts the tour by telling Kyo to pay attention because he won’t repeat himself.

However, of the three, Hayami has trained in this dojo the longest and is nothing if not wholly dedicated to her craft. She trains until she sweats and never questions or talks back to their master. Her _kia_ s are loud, sharp, perfectly timed with her breath. Her form is near perfect, and when it’s not her frustration absorbs into the furrow of her brow. With silent, deadly precision she pushes herself past limits that are deliberately kept hidden from the naked eye. It’s not long before Kyo identifies her as the most formidable student of this little mountain dojo.

Which makes explaining why he refuses to spar with her all the more complicated.

As their master’s _uchi-deshis_ , the four of them have intensive classes six days a week. However, in the first three days of the week they’re joined by the commuting students of the mastery class—changing the headcount of students from four to twelve. Even then, Hayami is the only woman.

It’s still the first month of Kyo’s stay in the dojo, and up to this point he’s done a good job of maintaining his privacy and keeping himself separated and distant.

He doesn’t say much to his housemates in the morning, he rushes through his meals, and spends his free time in the forested surroundings (since the four share one room). He doesn’t speak much, and thwarts many attempts at conversation by merely shrugging them away or grunting.

They’ll get the point eventually, Kyo thinks. As long as he does his work and makes it clear he’ll stay out of anyone’s way if they stay out of his, this will be fine.

One day, Hayami goes out of her way to directly challenge that.

“You.” She points at him from across the mat. “Let’s have a match.”

All twelve of them are gathered to begin a round of sparring. Their master is the one who decides on the pairs for each practice match, but today Hayami presents the challenge before he has a chance.

Hayami’s eyes are narrowed, assessing—she looks as though she’s taking note of every little detail in Kyo’s movements. Her voice is unshakably authoritative, and the statement is so clearly not a friendly request.

Kyo subtly looks off to the side where their master stands. His arms are crossed and his face is stern, and though Kyo can tell he’s displeased with Hayami speaking out, Kyo realizes he’s not going to interject.

“I refuse,” Kyo says, since he’s given no other choice. It earns a bit of muttering from the rest of the students.

Her eyes narrow further. “You would benefit from sparring with me.”

Even though it’s clear that the words are free of arrogance, Kyo feels himself prickle with irritation. He hates being told what to do, he hates being backed into a corner, and he hates being made to feel that he’s the weakest one in the room.

“I’m not looking for any of your _benefits_.” Scattered chuckles float between some of the students before Kyo realizes how his words sound. Embarrassment fights against his stomach, but Kyo has always been better at digging his heels into the mud than practicing humility.

“I’m your senior—this isn’t a request,” she says, voice maintaining its thundering calm.

“I don’t care what it is, I said I refuse.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

Irritation mounts a pressure behind his eyes and Kyo spits, “I’m not fighting a girl.”

Hayami almost bristles at that, and it’s the only scratch he’s seen in her composure since he’s arrived. “If you see me as a woman before you see me as an opponent, I already know how this fight is going to end.”

“If you know then there’s definitely no reason to fight you,” Kyo gives back just as sharply. The laughter from the other students is clearer now. Hayami looks as though she’s already steeled herself to the sound long ago, and Kyo feels as though he’s dealt a blow far more fatal than he intended.

But it’s not enough for him to back down. Nothing ever would be.

“You hear that, Hayami-chan? The junior wants something real to fight,” one of the men pipe up from behind Kyo.

“Enough,” their master finally says—his voice deep and bellowing no matter the volume. The students immediately straighten their posture as he approaches them.

He gives Kyo a pointed stare before addressing the class. “I’ll decide the pairings. That’s final. If you take any issue with this, I suggest you meditate on them. Silently.”

Kyo ends up sparring with the man who goaded Hayami by implying that Kyo had been in search of a real fight.

The spar ends with Kyo’s knees on the man’s back, and Kyo twisting the man’s arm behind him in a vice grip until he taps out. Their match takes the least amount of time out of all of them.

The other students clap at the display of strength from their new peer, but when Kyo looks up Kioshi has his arms crossed, and Taiyo’s friendly expression is wiped away completely.

Hayami looks the same as always. Strict and unwavering. Kyo is the first to look away when they lock eyes. 

——

It’s not too much of a surprise when his master calls him into the office when the commuting students finally leave.

Kyo sits on the other side of the desk in a _seiza_ position with his knees spread apart, just as he would at the beginning of a class. His back is straight, and his head hangs slightly.

Kyo will admit, he’s not easily intimidated, but his new master is as intimidating as they come.

Though he’s a bit shorter than Kazuma, he’s a stocky man with bones that seem to be made of heavy, indestructible steel. It makes him seem as large as a marble statue—especially with how his strength and severe authority make him all the more imposing.

He’s different from Shishou. He’s unforgiving with mistakes and is quick to discipline. He’s not simply rough around the edges, he’s the rocky coastline of a violent sea. It makes Kyo realize how accustomed he’d become to Shishou’s gentle nature.

Kyo stares back at his master. His sharp, robust features staring Kyo down, but the way he absently strokes at his clean-cut and slightly graying mustache makes it clear that he isn’t quite done making up his mind on whatever it is he’s thinking.

“I haven’t seen Kazuma in nearly twenty years,” he starts, and just the mention of Shishou has Kyo’s shoulders wanting to relax. “He’s a good man. I always wondered what sort of disciples he might have.”

A wash of shame floods through Kyo that’s muggy and hot. The last thing he wants is to represent Shishou—not now, not when he’s this battered and weak.

“Well, he’s turned more into a doting parent than an actual teacher, it seems.” He grunts. “We had a few conversations on the phone before you arrived. He told me that you were in search of an all-male class. He was damn insistent about it.”

Kyo stutters a nod, hating how his tongue lazes uselessly in his mouth.

“Hayami’s grandfather was a respected dojo master the next town over. A few months ago, the bastard finally croaked. Hayami was supposed to move back to her hometown and take over the dojo, but some issues came up with the inheritance and it ended up going to her younger brother instead. The legal disputes lasted up until a month ago—just a week or two before you arrived.”

“I see,” Kyo acknowledges, though he’s sure his confusion is clear on his face.

“It doesn’t sit right with me that it looks like I lied to an old friend,” he says. “It’s the only reason I’m telling you any of this. I’m a man of my word, but I’m not about to kick out my best student for the likes of you.”

“Yes, Sensei,” Kyo answers mechanically.

His master gives a contemplative growl.

“I won’t ask whatever this issue of yours is—it’s not my business. But cause your senior to lose face like that again and I’ll have no problem sending you back from where you came. I don’t give a damn how far back I go with your master. Understood?”

“Yes, Sensei,” Kyo repeats, as if he’s a pet parrot.

His master waves him away with a grunt, and Kyo bows at the waist before leaving the office.  
It’s not until he’s standing in front of his shared bedroom that Kyo releases a heavy, tired sigh.

“Dammit.”

——

That night, when Kyo rolls out his futon, it’s just him and Kioshi in the room.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t fight her,” Kioshi says, words cold as ice. “You’re not even worth the quick defeat.”

Kyo meets his flaming, protective gaze and says nothing. Instead, he curls under his covers and pretends to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where I hang: 
> 
> [Tumblr](https://mistergrass.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mistergrass1)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: bullying, vomiting (non-graphic)

After the incident with Hayami during class, Taiyo and Kioshi find a hobby in making Kyo’s life miserable.

Kyo didn’t come here with the intention of getting along with anyone. Since graduation, all he’s really wanted is to be left alone. If that comes at the cost of some juvenile hazing, then so be it.

But that doesn’t make it any less aggravating.

At first, it’s fairly harmless. The two keep a chilly air around Kyo and make passive, biting comments about his technique. Sometimes during practice matches they’ll bend his arm back for a few seconds longer after Kyo has tapped out.

But as the days go on, and Kyo continues to reject matches and critique from Hayami, Taiyo and Kioshi start to become more apparent in their dislike for Kyo. This only makes Kyo even less willing to make nice with any of his classmates—causing him to come off as arrogant and callous. After a short while like this, Taiyo and Kioshi find no problem with expanding their harassment to nearly every facet of Kyo’s day-to-day life.

On days where Kyo is tasked with the housekeeping, he’ll come back to rooms he’d just cleaned to see them in disarray. In the bathroom, supplies he just stocked will be missing. In the kitchen, trash he had taken out will be tossed onto the freshly-mopped floor. One day he comes back from collecting the mail, and the entryway is littered with his master’s mud-coated sandals—despite the fact that he’d just cleaned them by hand.

When Kyo assists with administrative duties, his master’s appointments are purposely listed at incorrect times. They’ll hide the key to the filing cabinets in the office. On one occasion, Kioshi gives Kyo the arduous task of reorganizing all the student enrollment forms which takes hours to complete, only for their master to become furious with Kyo for having rearranged his files without permission.

Kyo knows there wouldn’t be a point in ratting them out. He knows the best thing he can do is keep his head down and take it. But old, forgotten angers begins to boil up to the surface as their provocations start to become routine.

He wonders if it wouldn’t be as bad if Kioshi and Taiyo would at least keep their obvious distaste for him visible—if they just openly hated him. Instead, whenever their master is around, Taiyo will attempt friendly conversation. Kioshi will seemingly offer him helpful advice. They play the role of helpful senior in front of anyone who might see. They yo-yo Kyo between being accepted and being completely ostracized.

This dissonance gets put on full display during their dinner one night.

On Hayami’s night to cook that week, she prepares _imoni_ —a hearty stew with beef, potatoes, onions, miso, and soy sauce. It’s their master’s favorite dish having grown up in Yamagata all his life, and it’s as heavy as it is delicious. Kyo’s stomach is already bursting after one generous portion.

In a sweet, sing-song voice, Taiyo comments that Kyo looks satisfied with the food and that he should feel free to finish off Taiyo’s barely-touched meal, as well.

Kyo is the lowest ranking, and refusing Hayami has already gotten him in enough trouble with their master. All the mistakes Kyo has seemingly made in his duties has also ebbed away their master’s tolerance of him, too. And so, Kyo nods and warily takes the offered food from his senior.

He makes sure he doesn’t leave a drop behind—and when he’s done he feels as though he’s swallowed an anchor. Kioshi offers his bowl, as well, and Kyo has no choice but to swallow down the now luke-warm broth and chunky cuts of potatoes and beef. Each bite sloshes uncomfortably in his overly-expanded stomach.

Their master barely acknowledges the exchange over the dinner table. Hayami, who has always seemed to keep an observant eye on Kyo throughout these months, shoots the two a disapproving glare, but otherwise says nothing.

That night, Kyo tries to be as quiet as possible when his stomach throws everything up. After his body has purged the entirety of his dinner, Kyo realizes that eating _imoni_ again after today might cause his stomach to lurch for the foreseeable future. Kyo wonders if they planned on doing this with their master’s most beloved dish (and therefore the most frequently prepared) or if it was just another case of divine fucking timing.

Despite all this, Kyo does his best to contain himself. He reminds himself he enjoys the solitude he receives by being iced out by his master’s chosen favorites. He reminds himself that this is better than being forced into becoming friends with them. This is better than people giving a shit about him, and—more importantly—this is better than Kyo having to give a shit about _them_.

And maybe, for a deeper reason that Kyo won’t dwell on, it’s easy to see how close the three of them are. Hayami, Kioshi, and Taiyo are near inseparable. The way they talk to each other, defend each other, care for each other—it feels as though there’s no other way to describe their relationship other than _family_.

If it were Tohru in Hayami’s place, Kyo has to admit that he and Yuki would probably show some equally ugly colors.

It’s on this logic that Kyo keeps himself from lashing out and making his situation decidedly worse.

——

Kyo’s only reprieve from this is on Sundays.

The dojo only has one phone, and none of the students own a cellphone. Its purpose is only for emergencies and for occasional personal calls, if necessary.

Kyo calls Tohru every week at the same time on Sunday evenings. She always picks up after one ring.

Their conversations can last between ten minutes to an hour, even with Kyo still not saying much on his end of the conversation. But it’s nice to hear her voice. It’s nice to listen to her talk. It’s nice to know about her life and about a whole other outside world. It eases a tension in him that he never realizes he packs onto his shoulders throughout each week.

Despite how much he values their brief conversations, she always fucking insists on letting him know how Yuki is, too.

“ _He said he’s considering changing his major_ ,” Tohru says. The updates are brief, and never too detailed, but they always come without fail.

“Whatever,” is usually Kyo’s chosen response.

They end the conversation with Tohru asking again how Kyo is liking his new home, and Kyo offering up nothing more than, “it’s fine.” He promises to call again next week, same time as usual. He never brings up any of the incidents with his housemates.

“ _Good-bye, Kyo. I miss you,_ ” she always says.

“Yeah. You too,” he always says back.

That night when he hangs up the phone, he turns to see Hayami leaned against the wall, arms crossed in her sweats and a tank top—her jet black hair pulled back into a tight bun. She’s looking at him with that same assessing gaze.

“Girlfriend?” She asks.

“No,” Kyo says quickly.

She raises an eyebrow. “Sister?”

“Something like that,” he mumbles as he pushes past her. He can feel her eyes on him as he heads back to their common room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://mistergrass.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mistergrass1)


	4. Chapter 4

Things become even more difficult when the rainy season arrives. Both because of the strenuous work and the extra effort it takes not to snap at Taiyo and Kioshi.

Kyo does his best to keep up with the strict regimen of the classes, but he can’t fight his body’s demand for rest. Though the gray and bloated sky promises downpours to come, even just the season’s inaugural drizzling makes him sick, drains his energy, and make his form sloppy. Which, of course, just makes him easier to taunt.

He does his best to not let it bother him. Reasonably, Kyo knew this would be an issue when he decided to take up discipleship at a new dojo. He just hadn’t predicted that he would be in such bad standing with every person in this damn place.

Kyo receives no sympathy for his poor health, which is fine because he doesn’t need it. He doesn’t want to be pitied or catered to or treated so delicately. Kyo has already realized that the less attention he receives, the better.

When the first typhoon of the summer arrives in full force, Kyo braces his body and suppresses his symptoms with an iron will. He keeps up with the class, even when he’s so dizzy the room starts to spin. He sits obediently at the dinner table, even though he’s so nauseas just the smell of food makes him want to puke. He forces himself out of his futon at daybreak, even if every single muscle inside of him is _begging_ for his eyes to close again.

After three successful days of this, Kyo smugly convinces himself that he’ll be able to keep this routine up without a problem.

On the fourth day, he collapses.

——

When Kyo wakes up, he’s coated in sweat.

Rain pounds against the dojo, causing the outer _shoji_ doors to creak and shutter. The room is dark, but Kyo can’t tell if it’s that’s because it’s nighttime or because the storm clouds have gotten that thick.

Summer rain makes everything feel sticky and humid, and the room feels hot. Whatever is draped over him feels like a prison, and his body is so groggy it feels like he can’t breathe. Everything, everything feels suffocating, and Kyo can already feel himself start to panic.

“You’re awake,” a voice says. Kyo’s frantic eyes adjust and land on Hayami, sitting against the wall and looking at him as if the soaking summer air is barely noticeable—though her neck has the slightest glow of sweat.

He takes a moment to stare at her, and his surroundings begin to process. Hayami is here, he’s in his futon, the bare walls are familiar. One by one he evades panic by realizing he’s in their shared room. He settles even more when he realizes Taiyo and Kioshi are no where to be found, either.

“I’m awake,” Kyo confirms with a grunt. He kicks off his blanket and flops back down on the damp futon with a full body sigh. All he wants now is to fall asleep in a bath.

“I thought you were dying,” Hayami says, though she doesn’t sound too pressed about it.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Kyo grumbles.

“You should have said something if you were this sick,” she says. Kyo at least has enough energy to let out a petty snort. It’s not enough to jostle her serious expression.

“No point. Just need sleep,” Kyo says, but realizes that Hayami doesn’t move from her place against the wall. “I don’t like being watched.”

“One of us has to look after you. Are you going to tell me you’d rather have Kioshi or Tai?”

Kyo stays silent, and it’s enough of an answer. Despite it all, Kyo can admit the person he feels most at ease with in these mountains is Hayami. He’s spent enough to around her to know that she’s level-headed and poised. She speaks only when she knows exactly what she wants to say. She’s focused and driven. And despite her clear dislike for him, she leaves him alone.

She’s the exact kind of senior Kyo would want in a dojo, but he knows saying as much would be useless.

Kyo shifts to lay on his side, deliberately facing his back to Hayami. She acknowledges the childish action with a small, offended huff.

“The town doctor lives at the base of the mountain—he won’t be able to get here ’til the rains stop.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” Kyo says, ruder than he intended. “I’ll be fine by then.”

“Then at least drink something. There’s a glass of water by your futon.” Kyo twists his head to look at it but makes no move to make a sip. “You should eat something, too.”

“Not hungry.”

“Then don’t eat,” Hayami snaps. It’s the first time Kyo’s heard her tone so harsh, and it draws his eyes back to her. “I’m not going to baby you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Kyo defends. “I know how to take care of myself.”

“Fine. If your pride is that important, be as difficult as you want.”

“This ain’t about _pride_ , it’s about me being tired and you not shutting up enough to let me sleep.”

“Do not tell your senior to _shut up_.” Hayami’s voice raises, and Kyo can feel regret already melding with his exhaustion. “I’ve let you get away with a lot. Don’t think I’m going to be as generous with my patience when it’s just us.”

“Never thought you would be.” He knows his words sound dismissive and cruel, but it’s all he can manage. He’s too tired to fight, even if his anger is pulsing like a low, droning hum in his blood.

His back is still facing her, but he can feel her glare heating the back of his neck.

“I was supposed to be done dealing with men like you,” Hayami says after a moment. Quieter, but still just as angry. There’s something desperate in her voice that Kyo recognizes all too well. A grief over things that should have been.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Kyo says into his pillow.

“I know everything about you,” she counters immediately. “You’re stubborn and you’re insecure—like every other guy who’s given me hell in this dojo. Your arrogance is more important than your craft, which is why you can’t even muster up enough respect to face me. And you—you’d rather be tormented than take me seriously. Just like you’d rather waste away on this futon than admit you’re weak enough to get sick.”

Silence falls in the room, feeling just as humid as the thick, rain-clogged summer air. Kyo lifts his head to chance a look at her, even if lifting his head is enough to drain what little energy he has left.

“Are you done?”

Hayami’s glare seems to overtake her entire body, even if she doesn’t move a muscle. “Yeah. I’m done.”

“Then like I said, you don’t know shit about me,” Kyo says, because it’s true. And because being categorized as one of those students who smirk and laugh every time Hayami turns her head is just as nauseating as the smell of _imoni_. “I know I’m a bastard to you, but it’s not for any of those stupid reasons.”

It’s quiet again for a long time, but the heat is off his neck now. Kyo finally thinks he’ll be able to drift back to sleep when Hayami asks, “What are the reasons?”

Her voice is cautious and curious. Her composure is flawless again, and Kyo thinks if he were to tell her right now, she would listen. In that same way Tohru would.

Tohru.

Kyo jolts upright and immediately has to steady himself when a pounding ache ricochets through his skull. “What time is it?”

“What are you doing?” Hayami scolds.

“How long have I been asleep? What day is it?” Kyo insists, though he can’t stop wincing—just sitting up is making him dizzy.

“It—It’s Sunday. Almost 8, I think? You slept about a full day.”

Kyo forces himself up. “I gotta call Tohru.”

“Kyo, lay down. You’re going to collapse again.”

Hayami approaches him to help him stand, but Kyo is quick to jump away and steady himself on the other side of the wall. “ _Don’t—_ ” He takes in a deep breath through his nose. “Don’t touch me.”

Kyo hangs his head.

If there was even a slim chance he could have made her understand before, that’s definitely blown to shit now.

He hates this. He thought he could keep his mouth shut, keep his head down, and become something easily ignored. He wants to be left alone—but he’s also so tired of making people feel like this. He’s tired of hurting people without even trying.

“What’s the number?”

Kyo blinks up at Hayami. “What?”

“Give me the number. I’ll let whoever it is know you’re okay,” Hayami says. “Or you can fight your way out. Your choice.”

——

The phone rings exactly once before the voice of a woman bursts through the line.

_“Hello? Kyo?”_

The words are feminine and earnest but far from soft and demure. For some reason, Hayami hadn’t expected such an animated voice from Kyo’s ‘something like a sister.’

“My name is Hayami—I’m Kyo’s senior at the dojo. Is this Tohru?”

_“Is everything okay?”_ She asks in a rush. _“I mean—Yes! This is Tohru Honda! Nice to meet you very much! I—Where’s Kyo?”_

“Kyo’s fine, just sick. He wanted to pass along the message that he’s okay.”

_“Is it raining?”_ She asks with such gravity that Hayami wonders if she could really be asking about the weather. _“It rained today in Tokyo, but I know it can be much heavier in the mountains.”_

Hayami instinctively looks towards the ceiling where the sound of rain continues to barrage the rooftop tiles. “It’s raining. I mean, it is typhoon season.”

_“I thought so,”_ she says, deflated. _“He doesn’t do very well in the rain. Thank you for looking after him.”_

“He doesn’t make it easy,” Hayami says honestly. To her surprise, the girl gives a small laugh.

_“Are you a friend of his?”_

“No,” she says with the same honesty. A solemn hum comes through the line.

_“I see. Um, does he have friends there?”_ Hayami apparently hesitates long enough to rile up the girl’s panic again. _“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry! He… doesn’t tell me much. I want to make sure he’s okay.”_

Hayami doesn’t like to lie, especially not to well-meaning strangers, so instead she says, “You sound like you care about him a lot.”

_“He’s someone very important to me,_ ” she confirms. _“But I don’t want to be the only one who knows about his wonderful heart.”_

The conversation doesn’t last much longer after that. With a final assurance that Kyo will be taken care of, Hayami hangs up the phone.

When she wakes up in the morning, she’s still thinking about how strange it was to hear Kyo being praised by such a nice girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://mistergrass.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mistergrass1)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced in this chapter is a Japanese folk song known as [The Coal Miner's Song in Kyushu](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zmXvE-00bQ)
> 
>  _Kobushi_ is a technique used in a lot of traditional Japanese music where a single syllable is sung while moving between several different notes in succession.

Twice a year the dojo’s disciples are required to take a meditative pilgrimage to the Three Mountains of Dewa—once in the winter and once in the summer.

The journey starts at Mt. Haguro, which represents birth. The second day begins the climb of Mt. Gassan, which represents death. The third day is spent at the summit of Mt. Yudono, which represents rebirth. On the fourth and final day of the journey, they’ll climb down the mountain and spend a week at their sister dojo on the outskirts of the nearby city, Tsuruoka.

“Another week with Hotogi-sensei already, huh?” Taiyo bemoans one night before bed, only a few days before their departure.

“Don’t make him mad this trip,” Kioshi passively scolds.

“You’re asking the impossible, good sir.”

“Hotogi-sensei?” Kyo asks, as he rolls out his futon.

“He’s the master of our sister dojo,” Hayami responds.  
“And a real son of a bitch,” Taiyo adds. “So you two should get along great.”

Kyo ignores the comment and lets the rest of the conversation carry on without him.

If he’s honest, Kyo is more than happy for the journey. The rainy season has been hell on his body, and Kyo’s frequent sickness and inability to keep up with the others has caused his master’s opinion of him to plummet even more. The only saving grace is that Hayami hasn’t challenged him once since he collapsed three weeks ago—though he’s not sure if that’s out of understanding or because she now sees him as too weak to even spare her time.

The day of their journey Hayami, Kioshi, Taiyo, and Kyo wake up well before the sun to hike down to the base of the mountain. It’s mid-morning when they reach the main road where the grandfather of one of the mastery students picks them up in an old, splotchy-teal Nissan Vanette. Even with the windows wedged open, the forty-five minute drive is sweltering.

Taiyo complains about the heat to their amused chauffeur, but Kyo doesn’t mind it one bit. He’s just happy the sun is high and clear in the sky.

——

It’s 2,446 stone steps to the summit of Mt. Haguro and it’s not nearly as peaceful as Kyo imagined it would be. The steps are crowded with tourists both foreign and Japanese. It puts Kyo on edge as he follows behind Hayami, Taiyo, and Kioshi. On too many occasions, strangers come far too close to him for comfort. And even though most people have respectfully kept their voices quiet, every once in awhile the sound of clamorous exclamations in foreign languages will break Kyo’s concentration.

Even still, Kyo does his best to meditate.

As he climbs the stone steps, he thinks about his birth. He thinks about his mother. He allows himself to miss her for a moment. He thinks about hearing her cook while he sat on the navy blue couch in the mornings—he thinks about the feeling of his fingers slipping between the cushions, and how he’d poke at the cotton fluff through the hole in the fabric there. He thinks about how she would ruffle his orange hair so meekly that she almost seemed sick.

Kyo thinks about his father. Just as he allowed himself to miss his mother, he allows himself an anger that sludges into his heart like black tar.

He carries these feelings up the mountains—past the 600 year old sugi trees, past the bumbling tourists, past the wooden shrines at every turn. When they reach the summit, these emotions are still swirling within him, and he wonders if he somehow poisoned the sanctity of this place by not letting these things fall away at the gates of the mountaintop temple. Instead, it all slithers back inside of him and continues its silent spread through his stomach like wood rot.

It takes another hour to climb back down the mountain to the pilgrim lodges. Hayami, Taiyo, and Kioshi walk through the mountain village as if it’s their second home. They greet the owner of the lodge like an old friend. None of them bother to introduce Kyo.

At night, Kyo sits in the outdoor public bath alone save for another few travelers—two Japanese and one Indonesian. Even from outside, he can hear the three of them laughing and chatting with the building staff in the common area.

——

The next day begins the real hike.

The trail from Mt. Haguro to Mt. Gassan is overgrown and completely unusable for travelers. With no car, and no money for a bus, the four of the them walk for twenty minutes along the paved road until they’re able to hitchhike to the next trailhead.

Unlike the easy, walkable trail of Mt. Haguro, the trail of Mt. Gassan is steep, rocky, and endless. Kyo can’t remember the last time he saw so much of the sky. The hazy blue of it is unobstructed by trees or buildings. As they climb further, Kyo spots patches of compacted, icy snow that refuses to melt even though it’s July. There’s a peace here that Kyo hasn’t experienced in a long time, and he’s grateful that the arduous nature of the hike has made a drastic cut in how many tourists share the trail.

In the chilly, infinite sunlight, Kyo thinks of death.

It’s the easiest of the three to think of. Kyo’s history with death is tangled up around him like a baby animal ensnared in a thorny bush. He thinks about his true form, because surely that’s what dying is. If not, it must be just as painful. He thinks about his bones swelling and bursting through his skin. He thinks of Kagura’s eyes, Akito’s eyes, Tohru’s eyes as if they were staring down into his open casket. He thinks about the smell.

The hiking trail is covered in wild daisies—white petals with bright yellow pistils that look soft to the touch. Kyo thinks about how much easier it would be for him to disappear out of this world than it would be to crush down every single one. He thinks about how easy it is to want to die—he hates how easy it is. He hates that it hasn’t gotten anymore difficult even with this so-called freedom.

But maybe Kyo’s gotten stronger. Spitefully. Unwillingly.

How many deaths has he experienced now? Life only ever seems to take form in the same, straggling thread—so how is it fair that death has found countless different vessels to take? He’s learning to brace against all of them.

He carries these thoughts to the summit shrine of Mt. Gassan and tries to lay them to rest here, but they cling to him too tightly. What little of these emotions he does manage to release have to be clawed off of him, and Kyo feels scratched and mangled even as they arrive at the nearby traveler’s hut to rest for the night.

——

_“Climb over the mountains, one, two, three  
And there blooming hidden in the deep,  
You may find regalia all aglow;  
Pretty and fragrant they may be,  
They would be all for nought,  
Were there no lovers to cou—OW”_

The pebble pelts Taiyo in the back of the head and clatters to the ground, and Kyo tries not to snort. Taiyo rubs at the spot as he whips a glare at Kioshi and Hayami behind him.

“It’s _azaleas_ not _regalia_ ,” Hayami affectionately corrects.

“Should I start over?” Taiyo asks with a toothy smile. Kioshi aims another pebble at Taiyo’s forehead, who just barely swats it away.

“This is a time for silent meditation,” Kioshi deadpans.

“I can’t help it if there’s a song in my heart.” Taiyo grunts with effort as he sends his own pebble flying at Kioshi. He leans out of the way, causing it to hit Kyo right in the neck. Kyo flinches, but only offers Taiyo an unimpressed glare. Taiyo doesn’t do much other than chuckle.

The trail from Mt. Gassan to Mt. Yudono follows the Bonji River, and the four of them have been hiking the path since early morning. Kyo takes another swig from his water bottle, wishing away a headache he’s had since this morning—a product of altitude sickness, he figured. But now that it’s close to midmorning the clear blue sky has started to fade, and Kyo can already see the telltale signs of storm clouds starting to form.

He’s supposed to be thinking about rebirth, but it takes a considerable amount of energy just to put one foot in front of the other.

Taiyo takes in an exaggerated breath and continues his off-key _kobushi_.

_“If you really mean from your heart,  
I may give you leave to part from me,  
Only you have to restore me  
To the girl of eighteen that I was”_

Taiyo pitches his voice higher, making it even more grating as he drapes an arm around Kioshi and throwing all his weight on him. Kioshi pushes him off.

_“I will part with you then forever—”_

“I wouldn’t be so lucky!” Kioshi chases Taiyo down the path throwing another pebble, causing Taiyo to run away with a laugh.

“Are you alright?”

It takes Kyo a moment to realize that Hayami is talking to him, but Taiyo and Kioshi are out of earshot now, dawdling further along on the path.

“You look pale,” she says.

“‘m fine.” Thankfully, Hayami doesn’t push the matter, and the two walk side by side for a quiet moment.

“At this rate we should get to the summit by afternoon.”

Kyo grunts an affirmation. “What’s it like?” He asks, half trying to fill the awkward silence and half truly curious—especially since the past two summits have done little to make him feel all too settled.

Hayami hums in contemplation. “It’s breathtaking, but that’s all I can say. The monks make everyone take a vow of silence when it comes to the shrine. It’s bad luck to talk about it.”

“Seriously?” Kyo doesn’t realize what kind of expression he’s making until Hayami gives him an amused smile. “What?”

“Nothing. You just look like a kid,” she comments. “Was there someone you were planning to tell about it?”

Kyo grunts an affirmation, feeling a little embarrassed. “My Shishou’s always wanted to come here. Used to tell me about it when I was a kid. He said he believed people could be reborn on these mountains.”

“What about you? Do you think so, too?”

“He’s the one who raised me, so,” Kyo evades, starting to feel a little defensive. “What about you? You’re the one who comes here every year.”

Hayami thinks on this for a moment. “Every time I reach the summit of Yudono, I experience something different. Maybe it’s rebirth, I don’t know. I’d like to think so. But it can be hard to believe when I go back home and it feels like nothing’s changed.”

“Yeah,” Kyo says, because at least that much he can understand. It’s then that it begins to drizzle, and Kyo’s headache flares in his skull. The drops patter against the dirt path, against his t-shirt, against his bare skin. This high up in the mountains makes the water ice cold, and it runs a shiver up Kyo’s spine.

“Are you alright?” Hayami asks again. Kyo nods, but after a few steps he can feel himself swaying. “Kyo?”

“Just give me a second,” Kyo says as he squats down into a crouch in an attempt to steady the world under his feet. The drizzle is getting heavier now and his sudden fatigue makes his backpack feel like it’s carrying rocks.

“What’s up?” Taiyo’s approaching voice calls out.

“He’s sick again?” Kioshi asks, voice full of impatience. Kyo can feel the three of them towering over him, he can feel their anger and disgust splashing on his back like rain.

“I’m fine,” Kyo protests weakly.

“We can go back to the last traveler’s hut we passed,” Hayami says. “We can wait out the rain there, too.”

“Rain? What rain? It’s drizzling,” Kioshi snips.

“Yeah, let’s just keep going. He can go back to the traveler’s hut on his own,” Taiyo adds.

They go silent above him, and Kyo can feel shivers starting to rake up his arms now. He feels dizzy and sick and like a lost child in so many ways, and despite everything, a cold fear sprouts in his chest at the idea that they might really leave him like this.

“No,” Hayami says firmly. “We’re heading back.”

“Yami, seriously?”

“At this rate we won’t even make it by sundown.”

“Kyo, can you stand?” Hayami asks, ignoring the other two. Kyo nods and forces himself upright. On shaking legs, Kyo follows the three down the path they’ve already traveled. By the time they get to the traveler’s hut, the rain is coming down in sheets.

——

It’s nightfall by the time Kyo wakes up. The room is small, and the tatami door that he’s facing on his futon is cracked open to keep the room from getting too stuffy. From the sliver of sky that Kyo can see, there isn’t a cloud in sight—as if the storm had never happened at all. Kyo thinks that will at least make it easier to catch up with the rest of them tomorrow. He doesn’t know where the sister dojo is, but perhaps he can borrow a phone and gets the address from their master—even though he’ll definitely be scolded again.

Kyo slowly lifts himself up off the futon, grogginess still lagging his movements, and is surprised to realize he’s not alone in the room.

Hayami, Taiyo, and Kioshi are sleeping on nearby futons. Their breathing is even and in-synch. Kyo feels something ache in his chest.

“Oh, you’re up,” a yawning voice says. Kyo’s gaze falls on Taiyo, who is drowsily lifting his head off the pillow to look at Kyo.

“You guys didn’t leave?” Kyo asks.

“Hayami wouldn’t let us,” Taiyo shrugs, his bleary eyes finally focusing on Kyo. “Even though all you do is cause trouble.”

Kyo bites the inside of his cheek. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Taiyo stares at him for awhile before releasing a long, tired sigh.

“Well, whatever. We come here every year. Doesn’t really matter to me if we see Yudono or not.”

“We can’t go tomorrow?” Kyo asks, somewhat guiltily.

“Not if we want to get to the dojo on time. If we don’t, Hotogi-sensei will really let us have it. ‘specially Yami.” Kyo gives a little nod as Taiyo settles himself back down into his futon. Kyo wants to go back to sleep, too, but he’s still shellshocked at not having been abandoned. Even if this little gesture is so minuscule in comparison to everything. Even if it was done reluctantly.

“I’ll apologize to Hayami tomorrow,” Kyo says. He grits his teeth and adds, “Kioshi, too. I guess.”

Taiyo doesn’t respond, but maybe that’s better than some snarky rebuttal.

Kyo doesn’t get to think about rebirth that night. Instead, all that’s stuck in his head is the warbling melody that croons out a tale about the coal miners from Kyushu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://mistergrass.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mistergrass1)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one. The heat has melted my brain and turned my bones to mush and goo.

Had they made it to the summit of Yudono, the hike down the mountain would have taken a few hours. From the traveler’s hut they stayed in overnight, it will take a little over half the day.

To make it to the sister dojo by early afternoon they discard the leisurely, meditative pace that they’ve indulged in these past few days, and the four wake up before sunrise to begin a rushed descent.

When they’re a little past the halfway point, the trail shifts from packed dirt that smells like yesterday’s downpour, to giant mismatching boulders that wind into a steep downward path. The grey of the rocks is still darkened by the rain and the damp morning dew that doesn’t melt so easily even this far from the summit. The greenery that borders either side of the trail also proudly shows off its rainy sheen, looking puffed-up and well-fed. It all makes the air smell so clean—as if the sky is one, large, freshly laundered sheet.

“The rain can make this next stretch slippery, so everyone be careful,” Hayami calls back to them.

It’s a tough hike, but Kyo is happy to feel his body meet the challenge of exercise without resistance, even though guilt is still sticky in his chest at knowing that he’s the reason they’ve taken such a rigorous detour. And even if their pace is so rushed that Kyo can feel his calves and the arches of his feet cramping slightly.

That guilt only inflates when Taiyo makes a disgruntled huff behind him. He’s been breathing harder than the rest of them since a few miles back.

“Dammit,” Taiyo mumbles to himself. Kyo peers over his shoulder to see Taiyo trying to shake out the last few drops of his empty water bottle.

Kyo retrieves his own half-filled bottle from the mesh side-pocket of his backpack and hands in back to Taiyo. “Here.”

Taiyo lifts an eyebrow as he looks down at it.

“Oh? What’s with that cool response?” Taiyo asks loud enough for Kioshi and Hayami to hear. Regardless, he takes the bottle, and the four of them pause their hike to watch Taiyo drink down the rest of Kyo’s water. Kyo stops himself from rolling his eyes.

“Hope you didn’t need that,” Taiyo says with that smug face of his as he hands the bottle back.

“I’ll survive.” Kyo snarls.

“Now he’s definitely going to faint again,” Kioshi bites as the four resume their journey.

“He looks fine to me,” Taiyo responds. “What’d you think, Kyo? Gonna make it?”

“I’ll make it.”

The looping sound of sneakers scraping against dust and stone falls out of rhythm when Taiyo, who had been trailing behind as their four-person caboose, jogs up to match strides with Kyo. He bumps Kyo’s shoulder in a movement too jarring to be friendly.

“You climb a lot of mountains?” Taiyo asks. Kyo only gives him a skeptical glare. “Can’t your senior try and get to know his junior a little more?”

Kyo’s skepticism doesn’t fade even as he responds. “With my Shishou in Tokyo. He hikes a lot. I would go with him.”

“Your Shishou, huh?” Taiyo dismisses. “I never really liked hiking as a kid. My sisters did, and so did my oldest brother. But I’m the second youngest, so me and my kid brother were always closer. He had this blood thing growing up, so he couldn’t go out a lot. He used to get sick all the time, too.”

Kyo gives his acknowledgement in a grunt that he hopes will end the conversation. No such luck.

“At one point he actually wanted to learn karate because of me, but he’d get too wiped out after the classes.”

A glare creases back into Kyo’s expression when he feels Taiyo eyeing him. “So what?”

“So I’m trying to figure out what kind of disease you do have.”

“Tai,” Hayami scolds.

“What?” Taiyo defends. “It’s a fair question!”

“None of your business,” Kyo says.

“It kind of is. Since _your_ business keeps becoming _our_ problem,” Taiyo presses.

Shame and guilt clog up in Kyo’s throat. He wants to walk faster, he knows if he did Taiyo wouldn’t be able to keep up with him for long. But Kioshi is front of him and Hayami in front of Kioshi, and trying to pass by them while Taiyo’s implications linger in the air won’t be possible.

“I’m dealing with it,” Kyo responds, and Taiyo bumps into his shoulder again. Just as unfriendly as before.

“Dealing with what, huh? What kind of sickness makes you unable to stand one day, and then run down a mountain the next?” Taiyo asks, accusatory though he’s still smiling.

“Maybe he fakes it,” Kioshi supplies.

Kyo grits his teeth, trying to barricade his anger from releasing. “I _said_ —”

“It’s the rain,” Hayami suddenly says.

The three men stare at the back of Hayami’s head, who is still leading them at a swift pace down the trail. Kyo’s hands relax out of their fists, and he can feel his eyes widen with curiosity.

“How did you know?” Kyo asks, when Hayami shows no sign of saying anything else.

“I figured it out,” Hayami responds.

To Kyo’s surprise, instead of panic he feels relief.

He feels understood somehow—in a way that makes him realize how spoiled he had been in high school.

Being in this dojo is hard. Trying to interact with Hayami, Kioshi, and Taiyo is hard. Studying under a new master is hard. Leaving his life behind was hard.

This freedom is hard.

And Kyo realizes that he vastly underestimated how hard it would be, if only because there was no one left in his life who understood him at all—except once a week over the phone and miles away. Kyo knows that doesn’t compare.

“The rain? What the heck is that about?” Taiyo cackles out. “Am I missing a punchline?”

“Not a joke. So leave me alone.”

He bumps against Kyo’s shoulder again—just as unfriendly as before. “Rain sickness, huh? Is that what it is? Doesn’t sound too scientific.”

“Get away from me.” Kyo walks against the edge of the path in an attempt to put some distance between them, but Taiyo just follows.

“Is it just the rain? What if I dump a bucket of water on you, huh?” Taiyo throws an arm around Kyo, and he is getting very close to feeling suffocated. “Makes you seem like some kind of ca—”

Kyo escapes Taiyo’s hold on him by taking the next few stones in the path two at a time, aggressively shrugging Taiyo off him as he does. But the movement causes Taiyo’s balance to falter, and before Kyo can catch him Taiyo is slipping on the edge of a damp boulder and falling face first onto the steep, jagged pathway.

——

Hotogi-sensei kneels across from the four disciples in the main room of the dojo, and Kyo realizes that this man is every bit as intimidating as they said.

Kyo’s hands are already sweating and the man hasn’t even said a word yet. The silence is unbearable, but Kyo won’t dare to raise his head. None of them do. So they stare at the floor as if they’re well-trained dogs. Kyo tries to fixate on the woven pattern of the tatami, but the sling cradling Taiyo’s arm is a fixed point in Kyo’s peripheries.

After having spent the afternoon at the urgent care clinic where Taiyo’s fractured wrist is wrapped up and x-rayed, it’s now late in the evening. The four are utterly exhausted and covered in dirt and dry sweat—but each of them knows not to let that show in front of these unsympathetic eyes.

“Lift your heads.”

Hotogi-sensei’s voice moves like an eel through water, and the four immediately obey.

He’s imposing in a different way that their master, whose presence is so immense it hardly leaves room for air in whatever room he’s conquered.

With Hotogi-sensei, it’s as if the atmosphere is being vacuumed into his cold, judgmental stare. It makes Kyo feel as though he can hardly move a limb without fighting against the packed-in pressure of the room.

“I hadn’t realized Dewa was such an impossible task for you three,” he says. “Inability to reach Yudono’s summit, along with Taiyo’s injury. Am I meant to overlook this failure?”

No one responds, which seems to be the wisest choice.

Hotogi-sensei is a tall and slender man, with features as sharp as the tip of a snake’s fang. His long, black hair is gathering into a precise, low ponytail, and his facial hair is just as immaculately trimmed.

“This pilgrimage is a long standing tradition in our two dojos. You are not tourists taking a vacation. You are students. Perhaps your master considers you disciples, but I will not grant that title to those so flagrantly middling.”

Hotogi-sensei’s eyes stay focused on Kyo’s three seniors, whose throats bob and jaws clench as nerves pulse through each of them in a steady rhythm. The man doesn’t spare Kyo a glance, and he isn’t sure if it’s a good thing or not that he seems completely disregarded in this situation.

“Respond.”

“Hotogi-sensei—” Hayami starts.  
“I did not address you,” he cuts off. Though his tone doesn’t change from that of a lake chilled by winter, Kyo can feel the force of the statement in his chest.

Hayami continues, regardless. “I led the group here.”

“That was not your place. The pilgrimage is led by the man in line to succeed the dojo.”

Hotogi-sensei’s eyes fall on Kioshi, and Kyo watches out the corner of his eye how Kioshi still keeps his lips tightly shut.

“Our master has not yet chosen a successor. As the senior disciple—”

“A senior disciple would not put their pride before responsibility,” he says. “Your master’s misguided soft spot has caused him to go easy on you. Do not conflate favoritism with skill.”

A sharp anger slices into Kyo’s body—an anger that bleeds out even more rapidly when he spots Hayami’s troubled expression. When Hotogi-sensei speaks, every word sounds correct, and just listening to him in these past few minutes is enough to make Kyo’s hands go numb.

In that moment, Hotogi-sensei reminds him of Akito.

“It was my fault,” Kyo blurts out.

The room goes dead silent. He can feel Hayami, Kioshi, and Taiyo staring at him, but Kyo does his best to keep his eyes on Hotogi-sensei who is staring back at him now.

Kyo bows low enough that his forehead is grazing the floor.

“It was my fault,” Kyo says again. “It was my first time climbing Dewa, and I couldn’t keep up with the group. Haya—my senior made sure I wasn’t left behind.”

“Is that so?”

“During the hike today I also distracted my senior on the path, causing him to slip and injure himself. These were all my own shortcomings. I apologize.”

The formal speech is stuttering and loud on Kyo’s tongue, and nerves are rushing to his head like blood, causing him to flush. Kyo’s legs are tense, as if trying to cling to the floor so as not to be sucked in by that vacuum-like pressure that is now completely engulfing him.

“The shortcomings of the individual become the shortcomings of the group. However, at least one of you has a proper sense of humility.”

The praise stings like a blow to the stomach, and Kyo winces.

“Prepare yourselves for your training tomorrow. It will not be as forgiving as I am. Dismissed.”

——

“Well done, Mr. Hero,” Taiyo mocks as soon as they enter their sleeping quarters. Kyo’s fists have already been clenching in anticipation of this. “I knew you and Hotogi-sensei would get along.”

As soon as he closes the door behind them, Kyo doesn’t give it a second thought before he’s bowing low at the waist. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t move, even as he feels the three of them burrowing their stares into the back of his neck.

“Uh…” Taiyo mutters.

“Isn’t this a display you should act out in front of Hotogi-sensei?” Kioshi asks.

Kyo grimaces at the floor but presses on. “I know I caused you all trouble this week, and I’m sorry.”

It’s quiet again. Kyo can almost hear the three of them passing curious, condescending eyes between each other. He can feel them assessing him. He can feel their judgment.

Kyo shakes it off and reminds himself that he’s endured much worse.

“What are you doing trying to get on our good side now all of the sudden? Huh?” It’s the first time Kioshi’s spoken directly to Kyo in weeks, and his words sting much more than Taiyo’s teasing tones. “You’ve only disrupted our lives since coming here, and now we’re supposed to pity you?”

Kyo stays silent, maintaining his deep bow.

“You’ll need our forgiveness in case our master decides he wants to throw you out, won’t you? Well I’m not accepting an apology from someone who’s only looking out for their own skin.”

Kyo straightens at that, eyes filled to the brim with a fire he’s repressed for months. “If I was looking out for my own skin, I would’ve told you to back off a damn long while ago!”

“What was that?” Kioshi’s glare deepens, looking as though he’s on the verge of launching towards Kyo in the next second.

“No matter what you guys want to think about me, I know how to own up to my shit when I screw up! If you guys want to keep being assholes to me, fine. You still want to fuck with me at the dojo, fine. You can accept my apology or not—but I’m not looking for anyone’s _pity_.”

Kioshi’s normally calm expression pinches into anger but Hayami is speaking before Kioshi even has a chance.

“I accept your apology,” Hayami says.

“What?” Kioshi asks over Taiyo’s, “Seriously?”

“He said he’s sorry and I believe him,” Hayami states simply. When she looks to Kioshi he gives an irritated shake of his head, but doesn’t say another word. “Although, you didn’t have to apologize for Taiyo’s arm. That was his fault.”

“Hey!” Taiyo whines. Kyo just stares back at Hayami, stunned.

“You finally stuck up for yourself. Good job,” Hayami concludes, and it’s as if a giant weight in the room has been lifted off of Kyo’s shoulders.

“Yami, you’re too forgiving,” Taiyo says. Kyo watches him look between Hayami’s expectant gaze and Kioshi’s sheepish glare. Eventually, Taiyo heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, alright, consider us scolded, junior. I guess I’ll accept your apology, too.”

Kyo is sure his skepticism is reading on his face. “Really?”

“Yeah, why not. As long as you do a good job of taking care of your injured senior,” Taiyo says on another laugh. “Maybe start by helping me take out my futon. I’m beat.”

Taiyo and Hayami start to settle themselves into the room, leaving Kyo standing there, still somewhat shocked. They continue on with conversation as if it’s really been this easy the whole time. As if being understood really only took saying the words out loud.

Before the thought can settle, Kioshi shares one last tense stare with Kyo. Finally, without another word, Kioshi also goes to join the others in unpacking the room.

Only then does Kyo release his nerves in a long, shuddering exhale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://mistergrass.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mistergrass1)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I updated this three days ago. My sense of time is being warped. I don't know where I am anymore.
> 
> That being said, thank you all for such a positive reception to these OCs! I've fallen in love with writing them, and I really do hope they come across as authentic. 
> 
> That being said, more canon characters are just around the corner(ish), lmao.

Things change when they return to the dojo.

Kyo spends a lot more time with Taiyo as his wrist recovers. He takes on the extra weight of Taiyo’s chores, he helps in the kitchen on Taiyo’s days to cook, and doesn’t complain when Taiyo jokingly treats Kyo as a glorified errand boy.

As the month passes, Kyo can tell that the tension between them has eased. Taiyo’s attitude goes from that of a schoolyard bully, to a senior not-so-subtly enjoying having his own junior for the first time.

Though Kioshi still barely says a word to him, Kyo isn’t ignored anymore in class or around the dinner table. He’s left alone during his everyday duties. While training, Taiyo and Hayami watch his form and give him earnest, helpful critique (Taiyo enthusiastically so). And, most importantly, Hayami stops challenging him altogether.

Kyo knows these are olive branches that are being extended to him—and he’s resistant only at first before he starts to follow their lead. He talks more of his own accord, he asks Hayami to help him when he has trouble with certain exercises, and in general he does his best to temper his prickly defenses. By the time summer ends, even their master has Kyo back in his favor.

Kyo would still prefer to be left alone, if he’s honest. His purpose here has never been to connect with anyone. But maybe Kyo isn’t as immune to the sting of his peers hating him as he thought he might be. If he has to choose between being hated and being a friend, it seems like an obvious choice.

Somehow, he’s inclined to blame Tohru for this weakened resolve.

——

Autumn is ushered in with the changing of leaves and an earthquake.

Kyo is alone in the training room when it happens, and at first the ground moves so subtly that he wonders if he’s getting dizzy from the workout. A split second later the world begins to convulse beneath him like a dog shaking water out of its fur.

The wooden frame of the dojo creaks and groans into Kyo’s ear as he presses himself against the wall, and through the open _shoji_ doors he can see families of copper pheasants fleeing the swaying forest.

A loud _CRACK_ echoes through the mountainside in the final moments of the earthquake, followed by an even louder crash. The earth shudders again, but in a way too precise and concentrated to be an aftershock.

Kyo sticks to the wall until he’s sure the world is steady again. He’s still standing, but his legs feel like they could fold as easily as paper. Adrenaline clings to his breath, and the back of his neck is sweaty. It takes Kyo longer than he would like for his muscles to relax and for him to realize that he’s okay.

——

The collapsed beech tree blocks the path that leads to the front door of the dojo. Its death is immense.

Even though the surrounding forest is so tall that it blots out the edges of the sky with its towering branches, it isn’t until this corpse is splayed out on its side that Kyo realizes that the bigness of these trees is otherworldly.

Where there might be a chalk outline for a body, the fallen tree carves its demise into the clutter of bright yellow leaves that coat the ground like heavy snowfall. Their color is still ripe like fresh apricots, and had the leaves fallen when they’d dried into a crisp brown, the air might not have been so heavily perfumed with a scent like honeydew and water.

To the side of the main path, the stump of the tree is still rooted into the earth. The break is not a clean one, and the bit of bark that’s still standing is splintered to one side. In the center of the trunk there’s a hole three times the size of Kyo’s fist—soft, pliable, and rotten. Kyo runs his fingers against it as he squats down to inspect the break, and his fingers come back feeling damp and filthy. He quickly wipes them off on his _gi_. The decay feels contagious.

Taiyo whistles from behind him. “With rot like that, guess it would’ve come down sooner or later. At least no one was hurt.”

Kyo mumbles an affirmation just as their master storms out of the dojo with a weathered looking rucksack. The four disciples stop their inspection of the fallen tree and stand at attention before their master even asks.

“The power’s out—even resetting the fuse won’t fix it. I’m going down the mountain to get Sato-san. I’ll have him bring up his chainsaw, too. We’ll need it to clear out the tree.”

“Allow me to go instead, master,” Kioshi immediately offers.

“No. That man is as stingy as they come. I know how to negotiate with him.”

“Then I can accompany you. An extra pair of hands might be useful for bringing up supplies,” Kioshi insists.

“We don’t need supplies, we need Sato-san to fix the damn power. All of you—clear what you can off the path. I’ll return in the morning.”

“Yes, master!” They say in unison. When the man disappears down the path, they get to work.

Kyo changes into a t-shirt and sweats, takes the work gloves Hayami hands each of them, and wraps a bandana around his nose and mouth. Hayami takes a wide-brimmed broom from the supply closet and focuses on sweeping up the leaves with Kioshi, while Kyo and Taiyo get to work gathering stray twigs and branches that are too big for a plastic bag.

The leaves refuse to adhere to the dirt and slide under their feet as they work, and the four unwittingly hold their stances as they would in the dojo in order to continue cleaning the mess the earthquake has left behind.

“No way we get this all cleared up by tomorrow,” Taiyo complains after about an hour, hopping up to sit on the overturned trunk.

“Not if you keep lazing around,” Kioshi calls back.

Taiyo ignores Kioshi, not moving from his seat on the fallen tree. “I wonder what our master used to do before having us around.”

“Are there a lot of earthquakes up here?” Kyo asks. Taiyo motions with his hand a so-and-so motion.

“It’s Japan after all,” Taiyo says.

“I’ve never felt one that big,” Kyo says. “I’ve slept through most of the earthquakes in Tokyo.”

“You’re just a city-boy at heart, aren’t you?” Taiyo teases, and Kyo throws him a glare.

“Tai, your family lives in the prefecture, right?” Hayami asks, pausing for a moment to rest her gloved hands on the top of the broom. “Were you here for that one earthquake awhile back? Years ago.”

Taiyo snorts in response, nodding his head. “Yeah, I was here. _And_ I have to hear my family retell the story every New Years. We were at my big brother’s baseball game—in high school he was the vice-captain of the club. And the favorite child,” Taiyo clarifies to him. Kyo keeps his expression far from interested, but he still stops his work to listen.

“They’re down by four in the bottom of the seventh and then all of the sudden—” Taiyo pantomimes his whole body wobbling in his seat to mimic the shaking ground of the earthquake. “After that, my brother’s team took the lead, and the win got them to Nationals. My mom still thinks earthquakes are good omens.”

“Who would think something stupid like that?” Kyo interjects without even realizing, but to his relief Taiyo just laughs.

“I told you, he’s the favorite! Doesn’t matter that my sister and I were so scared we could barely move the whole rest of the game.”

Hayami laughs at that, and it’s a kind sound.

“What about you, Yami?”

“I was with my brother, too,” Hayami starts. “I think I was fourteen and he was nine. The earthquake was so big it knocked over our grandfather’s china cabinet in the kitchen. It made this big crashing sound. I think it was the loudest thing I’d ever heard. It scared us both out of our minds, but I think I was more afraid that I might somehow get in trouble for it.” Hayami’s smile is distant as she talks, and this time Kyo is careful not to interject anything.

“My brother and I hid under my grandfather’s desk, and even when it stopped he refused to get out from under it. He just kept crying and crying. The whole next week he wouldn’t go anywhere unless he was clutching onto my leg.”

Taiyo hums in passive amazement. “I guess even a guy like that would have cute moments as a kid.”

“Cute,” Kioshi spits, as if the word offends him, and Hayami’s eyes lose their soft humor. Out of all of them Kioshi’s the only one still working.

“Your turn, Ki-o-shi- _chan_ ,” Taiyo sings out. “Any tales from the south?”

“None.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Taiyo. Shut up and get back to work.” The harsh words bubble up an awkward silence in the chilled autumn air, and the only thing that breaks through the tension is the irritated click of Taiyo’s tongue.

“Can you two get more trash bags?” Hayami asks to Taiyo and Kyo. Taiyo sighs, but stretches as he stands and leads Kyo inside.

Once the door closes behind them Kyo asks, “What’s his problem?”

Even though Taiyo’s ahead of him, Kyo can tell he’s rolling his eyes. “Who knows? Everything puts him in a bad mood lately.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“Hey, don’t flatter yourself,” Taiyo teases. “I think he’s just trying to prove himself to our master—it’s probably stressing him out.”

Kyo thinks back to their first night in Hotogi-sensei’s dojo and something clicks. “What? Like prove he can succeed him?”

Taiyo winces at the question as he opens the supply closet. “Kioshi was always supposed to. I mean—master never said anything, but it was obvious.”

“So he’s being pissy for no reason,” Kyo deadpans.

“Well…” Taiyo rummages around the supply closet as his expression turns uneasy. “Yami’s family’s got a dojo, too. She was only studying here until it was time for her to take it over, but…”

Kyo’s eyebrow quirks at that. “So why not study there?”

Taiyo snorts. “I dunno—how come you don’t study at _your_ shishou’s dojo?”

“ _None of your business_ ,” Kyo snaps with vicious reflex. Taiyo shoots him a confused, irritated look, and Kyo immediately tries to reign in his bristling defenses. “It’s just… It’s complicated,” Kyo spits out in a mumble, forcing his shoulders to relax.

Taiyo eyes him for a moment, before saying, “Yeah, pretty sure it’s complicated for Yami, too.”

He finally unearths the box of garbage bags, while Kyo stares at his feet.

“Anyway,” Taiyo continues, “Her family’s dojo was supposed to go to her in the inheritance, but some stuff happened, so now it looks like she’s staying here instead. ‘Cause of that, no one knows who’ll be the successor. I don’t even think our master knows.”

“Even though she’s been a disciple longer,” Kyo comments.

“Technically Kioshi’s been a disciple longer—at least by a few months, I think—but Yami took regular classes with our master since she was a kid.”

Kyo’s nose subconsciously scrunches up and Taiyo laughs at the expression.

“Exactly— _complicated_.”

Kyo mulls over this information. From where he stands, Hayami seems like the obvious choice. Kioshi is skilled and precise, and he works tirelessly under their master’s lessons. But where Kioshi’s effort is obvious, Hayami’s is fluid and natural—just like her leadership. Meanwhile Kioshi seems to fumble over his own snappish, bossy commands.

A sting of something familiar pierces through Kyo at the thought.

“Hey,” Taiyo says, pushing the box of trash bags into Kyo’s chest. “Don’t go repeating any of this.”

Kyo gives Taiyo a flat glare. “Who am I gonna tell?”

That seems good enough for him, and Taiyo leads them back with Kyo. When they step outside Kyo can see Hayami and Kioshi standing close, their faces serious as they speak. When they realize that Taiyo and Kyo have returned, Kioshi shrugs off the hand Hayami has placed on his shoulder and resumes his work with a sour look on his face.

Kyo sighs to himself, thinking how much easier it was when he was being ignored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://mistergrass.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mistergrass1)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, my brain turned into mush for the whole month of September. Next update should arrive much quicker!

It’s sunset by the time they finish cleaning what they can of the pathway.

The gas stove is fortunately unaffected by the power outage, and for dinner Kyo cooks instant noodles while wearing a headlamp. Hayami places a battery-powered lantern in the center of the table, and the intrusive white light is both too bright and wholly ineffective at staving off the dark edges of nightfall.

After dinner, they take turns using the lantern in the bath and use headlamps while rolling out their futons in the bedroom. Hayami kills the light when it’s time to sleep. There’s no difference between the darkened room and the back of Kyo’s eyelids.

It’s disorienting—normally a yellow glow from the porch lights would seep through the shoji doors of their room. Their master is a night owl, and light from the hallway will also sometimes slip through the crack underneath the door. Tonight, however, the darkness has the thickness of a wool blanket, and Kyo can barely move under its itchy weight.

With no ability to see the world around him, Kyo’s instincts are aggravated into protective alert, but he forces himself to drift to sleep.

When he wakes up nightfall hasn’t budged, and he’s in Shigure’s house.

Yamagata is the same shade of darkness as his old room in Tokyo, and Kyo can’t make out a single outline around him. For a moment, he thinks maybe the dojo was the dream. Maybe his master, Hayami, Kioshi, and Taiyo were fabrications of pressure and stress and grief.

If so, how far back does this dream go? Is it the day before graduation—his supposed final day of freedom? Or maybe he still hasn’t fixed the hole in the roof in Tohru’s room from when they first met.

Maybe it’s Christmas Eve of their third year. It feels cold enough to be. Kyo swears he can remember the exact sensation of the futon scratching against his bare feet that night, and it feels the same as now. If it is, he needs to get up.

Urgency surges through him, but he can’t move. His blood is replaced with sand and his limbs won’t budge and his heart is forced to pump dry, rapid beats. He tries to calm himself down, he tries to listen for Shigure jovially talking on the phone with Hatori, he tries to smell the chicken katsu Tohru is making as she hums to herself, but Kyo can’t even turn his neck towards the shared balcony where he remembers Yuki causes the loose floorboard to creak.

He opens his mouth to yell for anyone in the house, but even his vocal cords have curled into nothing. He tries to focus on moving a finger, on shaking his head, on focusing his eyes onto anything familiar, but it’s no use and it isn’t fair. He deserves this. He deserves a chance to fix it. He deserves a chance to _stop_ —

Kyo wakes up sweating and panting.

As soon as he realizes he can move again, he immediately feels around for the headlamp at his side and flicks it on with shaking fingers.

The light is narrow and dim, but he sees the outline of Hayami’s futon. Kyo breathes out both misery and relief. His head is pounding and his mouth is dry and he needs a glass of water.

As quietly as he can, Kyo stands himself up and makes his way towards the kitchen, securing his headlamp around his sleep-swollen head. The air of the hallway is oppressively sweet and it serves to irritate his headache all the more.

Kyo is exhausted and a little out of breath from the unwelcome surge of adrenaline that sleep paralysis brings—but as worn out as his body might be, his defenses immediately snap back into place when he hears movement in the kitchen.

His headlamp illuminates a broad back hunched over the stove. The light must startle the supposed intruder, because they’re swift to turn around—the light from their own headlamp momentarily blinding Kyo even as he tries to block the bright burst with his hand.

Through a squint, Kyo recognizes the figure to be Kioshi. All too suddenly, the tense air that is ever present between the two devours the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Kyo slurs, voice not fully awake.

“What are _you_ doing?” Kioshi demands in a harsh whisper.

Kioshi looks at Kyo as if he were a rival lion about to encroach on his territory, but Kyo doesn’t have the energy or the will for a fight. He pulls off his own headlamp to show this, but Kioshi doesn’t return the favor.

“I’m getting some water.” Kyo makes sure his tone emphasizes how _he_ isn’t the weird one in this situation. It’s late—or early, probably. With the lights out, there’s especially no reason to be rummaging around.

Kioshi doesn’t answer the unasked question, instead impatiently whispering, “then get some water.”

Kyo rolls his eyes and scuffles into the kitchen towards the sink—only a few feet away from a small pot where Kioshi refocuses his attention. Kyo sets his headlamp on the countertop that separates them, and the light illuminates a mess of sugar and butter.

Despite the stale chill in the kitchen, Kyo runs the tap ice cold. He collects the water in his hands and drinks down all he can gulp. He takes another handful and splashes it onto his face, rubbing the cold water into his skin a few times to try and clear away the sweat. He shivers involuntarily, but it’s a nice reminder that he really is awake this time.

Kyo wants to put his whole head under the frigid tap and stay there until the nightmare washes out, but he can tell that Kioshi is watching him. Something about being observed makes the water sound like a clatter of pots and pans. His racing heartbeat sounds as clear as a summer cicada. The sweat on the back of his neck feels as apparent as fingers stained with juice from fresh cherries. So Kyo only allows one last splash to the face before turning the tap off and patting his face dry with the nearest dish towel.

“What?” Kyo snaps, muffled by the towel.

“It’s not raining,” Kioshi says.

Kyo flips the towel onto his shoulder to take to the hamper later. “‘m not sick.”

“You look terrible. If you cause trouble for everyone tomorrow, no one’s going to pick up your slack.”

Kyo’s lips tug into a sneer. “At least I don’t look as shitty as that sludge you’re making.”

Kioshi’s strict expression cracks enough to look insulted. “This _sludge_ isn’t for you, so I don’t need your commentary.”

“You sure? I’d only give something like that to a guy I hate,” Kyo says, crossing his arms. Kioshi’s glare just bends deeper, but it makes him look more troubled than angry. Kyo’s already exhausted, so maybe that’s why it’s easier for his hostility to soften at the expression. “You’re making caramel, right?”

“How would you know?” Kioshi spits miserably.

Talking to Kioshi is useless, Kyo already knows this. But that doesn’t mean Kyo wants to go back to the room just yet. So instead of saying another word, Kyo takes out a similar sized pot out from the cabinets by his feet.

Kyo shallowly fills it with water, along with a cup of sugar that’s just barely submerged. He walks further into the lion’s den by setting the pot down on the burner next to Kioshi’s bubbling mess, and Kyo’s sure his hand will be bitten off when he hands Kioshi another clean spatula.

Surprisingly, however, Kioshi takes it. Carefully, as if to not set off a landmine, they switch places.

“Make sure to scrape the sugar off the sides, or you’ll get whatever’s mutated in there,” Kyo motions to the other pot before turning off the burner and rinsing out the failed caramel into the sink.

“What are you doing?” Kioshi asks.

“Cleaning this out before the pot gets ruined—stop stirring. Just give it a minute,” Kyo scolds when Kioshi mindlessly stirs at the mixture.

“That’s how my grandma used to do it,” Kioshi defends.

“So what? Your grandma did it wrong.”

Kioshi’s expression is still fixed into a glare, but he does as he’s told. For a moment, the only sound between them is the low hum of the fire beneath the pot and water splashing onto the dishes as Kyo cleans up. The noise of it strains the tension between them—as if even the slightest vibration could shatter this reluctant truce. But when Kyo turns the tap off and quietly sets the dishes on the drying rack, that midnight silence is vacuumed back into the room.

“So how do you know how to do this, then?” Kioshi asks, aggressive voice quiet.

“My, uh, housemate—friend,” Kyo mumbles, tripping over a label to assign Tohru. “Something she used to make in high school.”

“Housemate, huh?” Kioshi hums. “With your previous master?”

“No. I didn’t live with my Shishou in high school. She lived with me and my two cousins.”

“Older cousins?”

“One older, one my age,” Kyo replies. The feeling of being back in Tokyo is still sticky on his chest, and he continues in a mumble, “the four of us lived together through graduation. My cousin—the older one—he had a big house.”

Kioshi hums again. “Sounds nice.”

“It was—” Kyo’s words stop short when he realizes he doesn’t know how that sentence ends. Trying to think of the right word makes his throat go sore. In the end, he gives up. Kioshi seems to realize this, too.

“Why not stay with your parents?” He asks passively, his focus not budging from the sugar dissolving between them.

“My dad’s a dirtbag,” Kyo says easily. Then, less so, “and my mom died when I was a kid.”

Kioshi nods as if he understands, but doesn’t offer any other pitying gestures beyond that.

“What about you?” Kyo decides to ask, because it’s late and it’s quiet and it feels like he can.

“My mom left when my dad went bankrupt about a decade ago. So we moved from Kyushu to Yamagata to live with my grandma on his side,” he says with a monotone that sounds automatic. “He still lives with her.”

Kyo’s the one who nods this time as if he understands. He thinks he does, but he leaves it at that.

“So what? Your grandma never taught you this shit?”

“I thought I could copy what she used to do, but she never really liked me being in the kitchen.”

“I can see why.” Kioshi’s unfriendly eyes send Kyo another harsh glare, and Kyo feels some of the waning tension ebb back between them. He amends, “or maybe you wouldn’t suck so much if you waited until you could see what the hell you’re doing.”

“Sage advice,” Kioshi bitterly drolls. “But tomorrow is Hayami’s birthday.”

Somehow, even though Kioshi said it himself, even after the morsels of themselves that they’ve exchanged tonight, Kyo doesn’t feel as though that’s information he’s allowed to know. As if Kyo’s cheated the words out of him on this dark, moonless, early morning.

“Guess not, then,” Kyo mumbles back, and he feels just as cheated into understanding Kioshi in return. “When it’s dissolved, make it simmer ’til it turns brown—then add the butter. Slowly. Don’t just dump it in.”

“What, you’re leaving?”

“I’m tired. Not like anyone’s gonna pick up my slack if I don’t get enough sleep,” Kyo says. Kioshi lets out a small huff through his nose. “‘Sides, ain’t it something you want to do yourself?”

Kioshi looks back to the pot. “It is.”

Without exchanging another word, Kyo carefully steps out of Kioshi’s territory—somehow unmarred. He stays as quiet as he can as he makes his way back through the hallway. He slides open the door to the bedroom as though it might break. Everything feels completely fragile, like a dream that threatens to leave no trace behind if woken up too soon.

The scent of caramel has infiltrated the room when Kyo melts back into the inky silence of his futon, but it smells different than when Tohru makes it. Somehow, that makes it easier to fall asleep.

——

Their master returns mid-morning the next day with Sato-san, a man in his late 40s with long, stringy black hair, thick-rimmed glasses, and oversized clothes that droop over his scraggly, hunched-over frame. Kyo hides his surprise when his scrawny arms easily lift and power the chainsaw, and the four watch as Sato-san slices up the tree bark into easily disposable pieces.

They spend most of the day cleaning up the wood, while their master and Sato-san get to work on repairing the electrics in the dojo. Hayami and Taiyo make conversation as they all work, but Kioshi stays quiet—and by extension, Kyo does, too.

By sunset, Sato-san has left and the dojo is flooded with working lights again. Kyo isn’t sure when Kioshi gives Hayami the caramels, but when all four of them are bathed and settling into their room for the night, Hayami cheerfully offers some candies to each of them. The only one who comments on their jagged shape is Taiyo.

The caramel is too sticky, and it glues their jaws shut as they try and chew through it. Spit collects under their tongues as they try and wrench their mouths open without yanking out their teeth, and Taiyo, Hayami, and Kyo struggle not to laugh when it takes nearly four minutes to dissolve the candies down. Eventually, Kioshi looks like he’s trying not to laugh, too. Especially when Taiyo takes in some exaggerated breaths once his jaw is freed from the candied prison and asks if he can have another.

And so, autumn takes on the taste of caramel.

——

When November begins, Kyo goes to sleep and wakes up to the whole world covered in white.

“Once it snows, it doesn’t stop until April. March, if we’re lucky,” their master grumbles that morning over breakfast. Kyo realizes quickly that it’s not an exaggeration.

The air in the dojo breathes through the ice and snow, and Kyo starts every morning with his ears tinted red from the chill. The four arrange their futons to be closer together so that they can share the warmth that comes from the single space heater in the room.

By November, each of them greet Kyo with a “good morning” when they wake up. It becomes habit to say it back.

_“Only one space heater? It’s not too cold, is it?”_ Tohru asks one Sunday over the phone.

“Nah, it’s fine. Besides, we train in the morning. That’ll warm you up more than some shitty heater.”

_“I guess that would be true. And you do all seem very tough.”_

“Yeah, right—if I have to hear Taiyo complain one more night about how cold it is, I’m gonna throw him out in the snow.”

“I’ll help,” Kioshi comments in passing as he walks past Kyo from the bathroom—hair still damp and towel around his neck. Kyo just snorts.

_“Don’t be too hard on him, you’ve always been very good against the cold! I’d probably complain, too,”_ Tohru says with a giggle.

“You wouldn’t complain,” he affectionately mocks. Hayami pokes her head into the hallway and wordlessly holds up an orange. Kyo nods appreciatively.

_“I can complain!”_ She argues as Kyo catches the fruit Hayami tosses him against his chest.

“Oh yeah? How’s working going?”

_“W-Well…”_ Tohru trails off as Kyo pinches the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can peel his orange. _“It’s going fine…”_

“Yeah, you can really talk a guy’s ear off.” Tohru gives a little whine on the other end of the phone that prompts a gentle laugh from Kyo.

_“But it’s okay! With all the extra overtime, maybe I can save up to come and visit you!”_ Kyo smiles at the thought, popping an orange slice into his mouth. _“Oh, if that’s allowed, of course.”_

“Yeah, it’s fine. Taiyo’s brother came to visit couple weeks ago,” Kyo says. “Maybe you can come after New Year. We’ve been busy training for a competition coming up next month.”

_“How exciting! Good luck!”_

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll let you know how it goes,” Kyo says. He can hear Tohru moving around on the other end of the line, followed by a little exclamation.

_“I didn’t realize it was getting so late. I should probably let you go,”_ Tohru says, and Kyo raises an eyebrow at that.

“What? No rat news this week?” He means it sarcastically, a little more than grateful for the omission, but the line goes quiet for a long while. “Tohru?”

_“I talked to Yuki yesterday, actually,”_ Tohru finally says.

“Oh yeah?” Kyo asks passively, already regretting having brought it up in the first place.

_“Yes,”_ Tohru replies. _“He called to tell me that he’s engaged.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me for more irritating cliffhangers: 
> 
> [Tumblr](https://mistergrass.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mistergrass1)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I begrudgingly decided to split this chapter into two parts, so look out for another update in a day or two.

In December, a sudden storm blows into the prefecture the night before Kyo’s first competition with the dojo.

Kyo is the first to wake up, and spends ten minutes on the porch watching the snowfall.

Overnight, the snow has piled up to his knees. The blank, white landscape feels like a cold and quiet attempt from nature to start the world over again. As if this life’s blemishes really are as easily erased as pencil marks.

On the mini-bus to the tournament, Kyo keeps his forehead pressed against the window. The condensation soaks into his bangs as they pass street signs, rooftops, and women carrying clear, plastic umbrellas. Nothing is left uncovered, and he can’t stop watching the world get swallowed up.

“You can stare all you want, it’s still just snow,” Kioshi says from where he’s sitting next to him.

Kyo peels himself off the window, realizing he’s been zoned out for most of the two hour drive. “Never been in a blizzard before.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Everyone!” Their master calls out as he drives. The muted scrambles of conversation from the mastery students comes to a pause. “Just ten more miles until the city.”

Taiyo, in the seat in front of Kyo, raises his arms to clap and leads the bus into a cheer that Hayami, Kioshi, and Kyo do not join.

“There’s only four dojos including us, right? What’s the big deal?” Kyo asks when the noise settles back down.

“A little enthusiasm isn’t gonna kill you, junior,” a tall, broad-shouldered student, Kaito, teases. Some of the other students chuckle, but Kyo has never liked him, so his expression remains flat.

“I guess it isn’t a standard tournament,” Taiyo chimes into the conversation. “Think of it like your high school sports festival.”

Kyo raises an eyebrow. “Annoying and a waste of time?”

“Exactly,” Kioshi says.

Taiyo makes a buzzer sound and holds his arms up to form an X. “The correct answer was friendly, healthy, _lovely_ competition. Please try again when your bitter hearts have melted.”

“How can we try again? You just gave us the answer,” Kyo deadpans. Laughter floats through the bus again.

“All the dojo masters in the area go way back,” Sho, one of the older mastery students, clarifies to Kyo. “They’re the ones who organize this thing instead of some martial arts committee. The prize is mostly just bragging rights.”

“‘Cause of that, we’ve all developed a little rivalry,” Taiyo smiles as he punches his open hand. “Since it’s basically the same students every year.”

“It feels just like a family reunion,” Kaito calls out a little too loudly, with a smug expression that seems out of place in the conversation.

Kyo realizes Kaito is looking at Hayami, who has barely said a word since this morning or on the bus ride in her seat beside Taiyo.

She doesn’t respond to the comment, but Kioshi turns to shoot the man a harrowing glare in the next moment. Before Kyo knows what’s happening, the conversation has dissipated into nothing but a few, weighted laughs.

Kyo gives Kioshi a questioning stare when he turns back around, but he says nothing for the rest of the drive.

——

It’s nearly thirty minutes later when they arrive at the community college in Yamagata City where the competition is being held.

They’re given slippers to walk inside, and they shuffle double-file through to the entrance of the gym in order to check-in with the stern-looking older woman who greets their master like a troublesome neighborhood kid.

Though they’re staying for a week, the competition itself is only three days. The first two days of the trip will focus on getting settled, warm-up exercises, and in-dojo exhibition matches. Since they’re the last to arrive, the gym is already echoing with loud _kia_ s, thumps of bodies hitting mats, and the commanding voices of dojo masters directing their students.

Kyo thinks everyone looks so dedicated and focused.

He’s restless from the drive and distracted by his itching desire to stretch and sweat and dive into the buzzing environment of this place.

He can only barely pay attention when the woman informs them about the classroom the twelve of them will be sharing as a dorm, the nearest bathhouse (since the college only has the locker room showers), and the strict ten o’clock curfew.

“Hey,” Kioshi says to Hayami, low enough for just the four of them to hear. It’s enough to snap Kyo out of his trance. “Do you see him?”

Kyo looks at Hayami, at the tense set of her jaw, at the stiff pull of her shoulders, and suddenly the lively energy of room is turning sour.

Her eyes scan the gym, and she nods.

“Yeah,” Hayami says. “I see him.”

“What? See who?” Kyo asks.

He follows her eye-line to a familiar looking man, though Kyo is sure he’s never seen him before. He’s young, with loose, dark hair falling over a white _hachimaki_ headband that makes him look even younger—like a high school cheer captain, Kyo thinks. He shouts orders at a bowing subordinate, but the authority of the man seems to start and end on his tongue.

“Students! Follow me to your accommodations!” The check-in woman suddenly shouts. “Once you have put away your belongings, you are free to use the space for practice!”

Obediently, they follow the woman further into the gym towards another exit that leads to the school hallways, keeping close to the wall as they do. Kyo continues sneaking glances at the man until Taiyo elbows him in the side.

“Stop staring,” he whispers sternly.

“Who the hell is that?”

“Hayami’s brother. We’re competing against his dojo.”

“Seriously?” Kyo cries, and Kioshi hurriedly shushes him.

Kyo’s immediate instinct it to look back to the man, but he fights it. Instead, he turns his eyes to Hayami. Her chin is up and her eyes are trained forward, as if she hadn’t even seen him.

——

Hayami’s brother is gone by the time they return to the gym.

The thick cloud-cover from the blizzard blocks the sunlight from coming through the windows nestled against the high ceiling. The yellow fluorescents of the gym seem more pronounced because of it, and it makes it feel like late evening even though it’s barely three o’clock.

Kyo, Kioshi, and Taiyo take turns sending concerned glances Hayami’s way, but if she’s upset, she’s sure to keep it hidden. When the young wife of one of the dojo masters approaches to excitedly greet her, Hayami even smiles and laughs as if there’s nothing wrong at all.

Taiyo and Kioshi hover around Hayami for the rest of the afternoon, but it quickly becomes clear to Kyo that there’s no point in him doing the same.

Instead, he decides to let his mind and body fall into other sensations. The atmosphere of the gym reminds him of when he would beg Shishou to let him sit in on the advanced classes as a kid. Kyo would press his back against the wall and devour every detail he could observe.

Against that wall, Kyo would watch how the students would move their bodies with expert control. He would mimic the precision of their punches, and his feet would tap impatiently as he watched their footwork. Against that wall, Kyo would think about how he couldn’t wait to become strong.

Stronger than his dad, stronger than Akito, stronger than Yuki. He must be by now, Kyo thinks. In fact, he’s sure of it. To prove as much, he throws himself into their afternoon practice. He loses himself in the sensation of training his body to be completely his own.

By the time their session ends, Kyo is drenched in sweat and realizes he’s attracted a couple of observers. Before Kyo can even ask why they’re staring, Taiyo is stepping in and happily introducing him to the two men.

Miki is a short, bulky man with a rancorous laugh, and Jun seems more like a monk than a martial arts student with his shaved head and serene expression. The two are students from Nanyo who represent their dojo in deep purple _gi_ s.

“I promise we’re not spies,” Jun jokes over dinner. “We just didn’t think the new kid would be so good.”

They sit in the college cafeteria, where every table is a mix of students from the four dojos. Kyo can see what Kaito meant when he related this trip to a family reunion—if only by the volume of the room.

“You’re nothing like when Tai-chan first started,” Miki adds, loud laughter adding to the already noisy room.

Kyo snorts. “Oh yeah?”

“Look at what you’re doing. You’re ruining my cool senior image!” Taiyo protests as Miki tousles his hair like a kid.

“Where’d you study before coming here?” Jun asks to Kyo.

“In Tokyo, under Sohma Kazuma,” Taiyo answers for him, as if he’s bragging. Kyo’s annoyance at Taiyo melts into surprise when the expressions of the two men go wide with polite awe.

“Hey, impressive. No wonder you keep up so well with Hayami and everyone,” Miki praises.

“Wait—you know my Shishou?”

“He studied with a lot of our masters,” Jun answers. “Sohma- _sensei_ ’s got a pretty insane reputation. So you came from that dojo, huh?”

“Good for you, kid.”

Kyo feels pride swell in his chest. He realizes this is the first time he’s ever been praised as Shishou’s student. Behind Sohma walls, Kyo has always been the pitiful stray imposed upon Kazuma. He’s never been given the chance to be something as simple as a martial artist.

The lively conversation continues throughout the meal. Kyo is introduced to most of the other Nanyo students throughout the night, most of whom grill Kyo with questions about life in Tokyo. In exchange, they show Kyo a few of their footwork techniques unique to their dojo. Kyo has never been one to socialize much, but he’s surprised at how quickly the night passes talking to strangers—even after Taiyo leaves him alone to catch-up with another group of friends.

By the time Kyo flops into his futon just before curfew, it feels as though a whole week has been packed into a single day.

Hayami, Kioshi, and Taiyo still aren’t in the room, and Kyo wonders for a moment if he should worry. He hasn’t seen Hayami since practice, and it seems odd that the three would still be missing this close to curfew.

His will to investigate depletes when his eyes start to droop, and the muted conversation of the other students in the room begins to lull him to sleep.

The next thing he knows, his shoulder is being roughly jostled and his eyes are blinking awake to a dark room and Kioshi standing over him.

“Taiyo was supposed to keep you from going to bed,” Kioshi whispers with a click of his tongue. Kyo can hardly follow what he’s saying. “Get up, we’ll be waiting at the entrance.”

“We’re what? Huh?” Kyo slurs, disoriented.

“Just get dressed,” Kioshi commands in a whisper. “And don’t wake anyone up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://mistergrass.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mistergrass1)


	10. Chapter 10

His seniors lead him down a main street, hands shoved in their pockets and heads bowed to keep the snowfall from hitting their eyes.

Despite the late hour, the area looks wide awake. The sidewalks are concrete and crowded. Nightfall is batted away by street lamps, car headlights, and spilled yellow glow from open storefronts. Yamagata may not be comparable to Tokyo in size, but it’s jarring nonetheless to be back in a city. Kyo forgot how hectic it could be.

When they reach the _izakaya_ , Taiyo and Hayami order beers, Kioshi orders a highball, and Kyo feels like a kid sipping at an oolong tea.

“Is this really okay?” Kyo asks. “What about curfew?”

“Don’t worry—sneaking out is basically tradition. All the disciples do it,” Taiyo says with a laugh.

“Pretty inevitable when you put a bunch of country bumpkins walking distance from a bar,” Kioshi adds, and Taiyo cackles.

“The dojo masters always go out and get wasted on the first night, too. Usually they end up staying out all night.” Hayami sips at her beer, looking relaxed and content with her hair hanging down at her shoulders instead of tied up in its usual tight ponytail. “Prepare yourself—he’s unforgiving when he’s hungover.”

Taiyo and Kioshi groan, and Kyo feels an amused smile stretch over his lips.

“Good thing tomorrow’s just a practice day,” Kyo says. “If you guys are gonna be hungover, too.”

“What gives you the right to be so smug, huh?” Taiyo slaps a hand against Kyo’s back, and Kyo gives him a half-hearted glare in return.

“I forgot you can’t drink yet,” Hayami admits. “You act older than most people your age, you know.”

“When’s your birthday?” Kioshi asks.

“End of the month, actually,” Kyo says, suddenly a little shy. “But I’ll still only be nineteen.”

His three seniors let out a joking, elongated _“eh?”_ that makes Kyo feel even younger than the oolong tea does.

“A whole ‘nother year until you can drink like a big boy, huh?” Taiyo laments.

“Who says I’m gonna want to drink when I’m 20, anyway?”

“Young _and_ earnest, what a rarity.”

“You’re not _that_ much older than me,” Kyo argues.

“Especially mentally,” Kioshi comments. Kyo smirks when Taiyo lets out a protesting grunt.

“We’ll be going back to Dewa in a few weeks,” Hayami says. “Maybe we’ll be there on your birthday.”

“Yeah?” Kyo can’t help but smile into his tea. He likes the idea of that. He’s excited to see the three mountains again. He still wants to see Yudono’s summit. Rebirth on his birthday seems both comforting and necessary.

“You better get proper snow gear by then,” Kioshi scolds.

Since the snowfall began last month, Kyo has borrowed an extra pair of snow pants from their master. They’re oversized, and if Kyo steps in snow deeper than his ankle, water seeps through easily. By the time they made it to the bottom of the mountain this morning, Kyo’s feet were soaked by the blizzard.

“There’s a secondhand shop close to home,” Hayami says. “Try there—winter clothes can get expensive.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Taiyo knocks back the last of his beer. “Refills?”

“Don’t get carried away,” Kioshi warns.

“I wouldn’t mind another,” Hayami admits.

“Yeah! Drink your struggles away, Yami!”

Hayami gives an amused shake of her head. “There isn’t enough beer in the world.”

“We can take him,” Kioshi says—voice firm and simmering low with anger. “No challenge.”

“He’s a good fighter—those students are good fighters,” Hayami counters.

“He’s never beaten you.”

“Of course he hasn’t,” Hayami says a bit too sharply. “But what does that matter? Dojo masters don’t compete.”

The table falls quiet for a moment as they all sip at their drinks. Eventually, Kyo’s curiosity beats out his wariness. “You mean your brother?”

Hayami nods.

Kyo thinks back to the man he saw in the gym. He thinks back to the round face, to the skinny arms, to the way he shouted at the students—his students, apparently. Kyo’s mouth contorts into a frown.

“Didn’t look like a master to me. He looked like a kid,” Kyo says.

“Takes one to know one,” Taiyo mumbles, and Kyo elbows him in the side.

Hayami takes a deep swig of her beer, hand tightening around the glass. When she sets down her drink, her expression is cold and distant.

“It’s funny—I used to think the same thing,” she says. “Even now when I try and picture Yusei in my head, the only thing I can see is a little kid. The one who would cry at everything and who would hide behind my legs whenever he was scared. But when I saw him today, I was reminded all over again that he’s become the spitting image of my grandfather.”

They fall quiet again. The chatter of drunken businessmen and university students overtake the space between them.

“Hayami—” Kioshi eventually tries.

“I think,” Hayami interrupts, giving each of them an apologetic smile. “I think I need to take a walk. Alone.”

She pulls out her wallet from her coat and puts a few bills down for her share of the drinks.

“Don’t stay out too late,” she says. None of them seem to be able to do anything other than nod.

——

Taiyo tells Kyo the full story that night while Kioshi quietly sips at his drink.

Her grandfather’s dojo had originally been inherited by Hayami’s father before she was born.

He loved both of his children deeply, but it was Hayami who fell in love with their family’s craft. As a child, she spent every spare minute at the dojo—working to be his successor. Summer, to Hayami, would always be training with her father while her mother and brother drank iced tea just outside the open doors on the _engawa_.

She was twelve when her parents passed away—not old enough to inherit the property herself. To take care of both the children and the business, her grandfather ended his retirement and returned to the dojo.

He refused to allow Hayami into his classes. He refused to allow women to learn at his dojo at all. And, despite his own son’s will and testament, he refused to acknowledge Hayami as the rightful successor. In a matter of days, she had lost her mother, her father, and the precious world they had created.

At first, Hayami continued her education in secret. When she was found out, she left home to become their master’s disciple. Even though it broke her heart to leave her brother behind, she vowed to gain the knowledge needed to become a proper dojo master.

Her father had granted her the dojo once she reached a certain age. But when her grandfather passed, he’d left the dojo to her brother.

It was at the funeral that she discovered how her brother had spent the time she was away scheming against her—how he’d spent his time winning over their grandfather’s favor. Despite the fact that as kids, Hayami would let her brother crawl into her futon when he couldn’t stop crying over the cruel things their grandfather would say to him.

Somehow their only familial ties in the world had become reduced to nothing more than the two wills of two dead men, both with rightful ownership over the dojo.

Hayami tried to fight, but her brother used their deceased grandfather’s lawyer to take everything from her. In the end, their grandfather had barely left Hayami enough inheritance for the taxi ride back home.

Two weeks after the court ruled in her brother’s favor, Kyo arrived at the dojo.

——

It’s still snowing when they wake up the next day.

The dojos are separated into the four corners of the gym for practice, though when the matches begin, they’ll compete in the center of the floor. Their cranky, hungover master works them hard through the morning exercises. Hayami’s hair is back up in its tight ponytail.

None of them say a word about the night before, but Kyo can’t help sneaking glances at Hayami’s brother from across the gym. On more than one occasion, Kyo catches the students among her brother slip the same wary eyes over to Hayami. The silent back and forth between the two dojos stretches the air in the gym until it’s completely taut.

The afternoon starts the exhibition matches, and the students are granted the freedom to wander around and observe how each of the four dojos spar.

Miki, Jun, and a few others that Kyo befriended the night before gather around the mat to catch the end of Kyo’s matches. Aware of their watchful eyes, Kyo’s sure to perform at his best in order to properly represent both his Shishou and his current master.

After Kyo’s turn, Hayami steps into the center. For how unaffected she’s appeared since they arrived, she is uncharacteristically brutal when her own matches begin. Master student after master student are defeated by her quick, hostile movements, and all Kyo can do is watch alongside the crowd.

It’s then that Hayami’s brother finally approaches.

Kyo can see him walking towards them, through the forest of on-going spars and their audiences. He plants himself next to Kyo to watch the rest of Hayami’s match, and the gym suddenly feels colder than the blizzard.

The man looks smaller up close. He’s definitely average-looking both in build and in face. But Kyo does admit to seeing their resemblance now that he’s standing next to him—same slope of the nose, same eyebrows, same chin.

On the mat, Kaito stumbles when Hayami delivers a particularly swift kick, and she takes advantage of his imbalance to sweep his feet out from under him and pin him to the mat. Claps from observers and frustrated groans from defeated challengers echo around them. Kyo claps aggressively loud, and her brother’s neutral gaze meets Kyo’s glare for a brief second.

When Hayami stands, she turns to come face to face with her brother.

“Still the golden student, aren’t you?” The man says with a cordial grin.

“It’s been awhile, Yusei,” she says in return.

He hums an agreement. “I was wondering if you were ever going to greet me.”

“We’ve both been busy,” she replies in a cool, even tone. The resulting smile that slivers onto Yusei’s face shatters their resemblance.

“So it seems,” he says. “It’s hard to tell what my students are up against when you show off like that.”

“You’re a dojo master now—you’ll need to know the difference between technique and flash.”

Yusei’s brows furrow for a moment, but his smug expression doesn’t falter.

“Long time no see, Yu-chan,” Taiyo interjects, sickeningly sweet, and Kyo realizes how quiet their corner of the gym has become.

Last night, Kyo felt guilty for learning what he thought was the secret of Hayami’s past. But looking around at the undivided silent attention the siblings have drawn, he wonders if he’s the last to know.

“It’s _sensei_ now,” Yusei says.

“Ah, my bad,” Taiyo responds. “Are we finally going to get to see a match between you and Yami?”

“I’d rather not take time away from the students,” Yusei responds easily, politely—as if he were a kind man. “I’m happy to just observe.”

“I doubt it would take too much time,” Kioshi says, far less amicably than Taiyo. “Hayami is undefeated in our dojo, after all.”

Kyo watches how Yusei takes a quick scan of the crowd. Their eyes meet again, and Kyo is sure to mirror Taiyo and Kioshi’s glares.

“Is that so?” He asks.

“It is,” Hayami responds.

“Liar,” comes a sudden voice.

Kyo is quick to identify the source.

Kaito stands with the other mastery students, still looking out of breath, and nursing a wounded pride from his quick defeat.

“Excuse me?” Hayami demands.

“I’m saying you’re not undefeated,” Kaito grouses, but then an all-too-pleased expression stains his face. “Since junior still won’t fight you.”

Kaito points a finger, and Kyo realizes that he’s at the end of it. In an instant, all the attention turns to his way.

Everyone is staring at him, but he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say—if he’s supposed to say anything at all. This isn’t his business and it isn’t his fight, but Yusei looks at Kyo as if he’s inspecting him. A rotted, amused smile crawls back onto his lips, and Kyo feels himself bristle.

“What’s it matter if she fights some low-rank like me,” Kyo says. His throat feels tight.

“Kyo, you’ve never had a match with Hayami?” Jun suddenly asks. “What a waste.”

“No, uh—”

“Don’t disrespect your legacy!” Miki encourages, ignoring Kyo’s pleading stare. “If you’re from Sohma- _sensei_ ’s dojo, you’re no low-rank.”

“He knows that,” Kaito mocks. “Hayami here just isn’t worth his time.”

“Shut up, you assholes!” Kyo shouts through his teeth at the now chuckling mastery students. The attention is still pinned against his chest, and Kyo can barely breathe. “I never said that!”

Kyo whips his gaze to Hayami, trying to convey something both indignant and apologetic, but Hayami’s impenetrable expression doesn’t budge.

If anything, it only hardens at the sound of her brother’s laughter.

“That’s right, he didn’t say that,” Hayami says to her brother.

Kyo wants to feel relief at Hayami’s defense of him, but he can’t.

Hayami steps back into the center of the mat, and her eyes dead-lock onto Kyo.

“Come on, Kyo,” she says. “Let’s have a match.”

The gym is still filled with echoes of the other dojos—of distant scuffling, of muffled cheers, and breath-controlled shouts. But around this mat, it’s silent.

He thinks about running, but he can feel Taiyo and Kioshi watching him. He can feel the fragility of their good graces—of their friendship—weigh against his back. Yusei is watching him, too. Waiting to see if Kyo will give him a victory he’s too fucking cowardly to earn on his own.

Kyo steps into the circle. The light, gleeful clapping of the crowd grind against his ears. His brain runs into overdrive trying to form a strategy in the three seconds it takes for him to come face to face with Hayami on the mat.

He can do this, he thinks. He just can’t let her pin him.

All he has to do is win the fight.

They bow.

Kyo raises his fists, and Hayami does the same.

They settle into their stances, and Kyo doesn’t realize that the reason Hayami’s expression softens for a moment is because of the helpless, terrified look he unknowingly gives her. Kioshi calls the start of the match, and they begin.

In the next second, Hayami is throwing a high kick at Kyo. He lifts his arm and blocks her leg, flinging it away and jumping back.

Hayami crowds Kyo again with a quick series of punches, and Kyo just barely ducks and flees to the other side of the mat.

They bounce on their feet, and Kyo knows he’s being observed by her—as she does with all her opponents after jostling their guard with her first movements.

With speed on her side, she throws another punch, and when Kyo predictably ducks, she follows with a kick to his side that Kyo blocks with his arm in his crouched position.

He takes the opportunity to push her leg away, forcing her to back up and reposition herself, but Kyo knows he can’t keep playing defensive. If he does, all she’ll do is lunge at him again and again until he’s worn down.

Kyo races forward, and aims a kick for her stomach. She dodges, but Kyo spins to send a second kick at her side that she blocks by lifting her knee. Hayami punches again, one arm aimed at his cheek, the other at his side, and Kyo jumps back to avoid the attack.

She’s good and she’s fast and her guard is as impenetrable as Shishou’s. Fighting her feels futile, and the thought causes dread to invade his core.

With a desperate _kia_ , he throws his fist square at her chest, and she side steps the punch and grabs his wrist. Terror ripples from his stomach up into his throat when her grip on his arm shatters his balance. She throws him to the side, and Kyo just barely catches himself.

Breathing wild, sweat soaking his bangs, he rights himself just in time to see her approaching him again. He doesn’t have time to dodge. His mind is too clouded with panic to remember how to block.

In a moment ruled by instinct and fear, Kyo can only think to shove her away, but her sharp reflexes grab at his _gi_. Her weight causes his already unstable stance to break completely, and then he’s stumbling.

When Kyo falls, Hayami falls with him, and the puff of orange smoke signals the end of the match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday this week which means it's illegal to be mean to me :') 
> 
> [Tumblr](https://mistergrass.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mistergrass1)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the bottom of my heart, for leaving all of you waiting for this after last chapter's cliffhanger -- my bad. 
> 
> Thanks for being real ones while my brain tried to work its way out of its useless state of decay, it's much appreciated :'') 
> 
> Also thanks to Shark who looked over this chapter's first draft! Glad to finally have this posted.

Kyo doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until his eyes gently nudge open.

A warm wash of panic wakes alongside him when he doesn’t immediately recognize his surroundings, but the brain-tickling thrum of the train rocks his memory back into place like an ocean might to an empty rowboat.

There’s a smudge on the window when Kyo peels his cheek away, and through the greasy blur the scenery continues to slice away into something familiar. Kyo’s first thought is that there’s too many colors for winter, dull as they may be. Washed out greens, browns, greys, and the wan blue of the sky haven’t budged from where he last left them. His second thought is that he might be sick.

“I wish I had a camera.” Hayami’s voice matches the quiet tenor of the humming train, and Kyo blinks away the last of sleep with a questioning grunt.

Hayami is sitting across from Kyo and motions to Taiyo and Kioshi sleeping soundlessly in the seats beside them. Taiyo is close to slumping over into Kyo’s space, and Kyo swallows the petulant instinct to shove him away.

“You all looked pretty cute like that,” she teases in that dry, honest tone of hers. Kyo lets out a little snort mid-stretch.

“We here?”

“Just about. The conductor said 30 minutes not too long ago,” she says.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to sleep that long.”

“You were tired.”

Kyo mumbles the listless curse again and the two don’t say anything else until Taiyo and Kioshi wake up twenty minutes later.

Shinjuku station is loud and crowded, and Kyo can feel the hyper-aware tension that used to be so familiar to him reignite like it had never gone away at all. People stream towards them from all directions close enough to feel the swift, stale breeze they leave behind. It’s like a tornado. Kyo forgets to move—wonders how he ever did in this overpacked city and if he always did so with his throat constantly threatening to close up.

Kyo jumps and flinches away when Taiyo touches his arm, but luckily he doesn’t say a word about it. If anything he sticks closer, and he realizes Kioshi is doing the same on his other side.

“Tokyo Tower first!” Taiyo chirps. With no other preamble the four begin to move as a unit. Kyo’s happy to feel his legs working, but the back of his neck is starting to sweat.

“I don’t know what line that is,” Kyo says over the rumble of the crowd.

“We’ll take a cab,” Hayami says, and Kyo doesn’t protest as they make their way towards the exit.

——

It’s too crowded to go to the top of the tower, so instead the four take a walk around the nearby Shiba Park where the bright orange and white structure is still clearly visible. It’s a nice day despite the winter chill. The sunny weather makes the afternoon seem relaxed and endless.

“I thought it’d be taller,” Kioshi comments.

“It’s probably taller up-close,” Hayami teases, causing Taiyo to laugh.

“You know what I mean,” he grumbles. “Everyone always makes a big deal out of it.”

“Dunno why,” Kyo says.

“You live here, your opinion doesn’t count,” Taiyo says. “You probably passed by it everyday on your way to school.”

“Do you think all of Tokyo is just this tower and the crossing at Shibuya?”

“Of course not.” Taiyo puffs up in faux-offense. “There’s Disneyland, too.”

Hayami and Kioshi both chuckle at that, and even Kyo shakes his head as his lips turn up slightly.

They walk around the park for awhile, a steady stream of chatter filling the space between the four. For Kioshi and Hayami, it’s their first time in Tokyo. Hayami even mentions how she’s never traveled further south than her home prefecture of Yamagata.

Taiyo acts like a tour guide, even though the only other time he’s visited Tokyo was when he was nine on a family trip. He pitches his voice up, drops his accent, and adapts an overly-polite speech as he gestures to unremarkable buildings, trees, and points in the skyline as he invents a ridiculous history for each.

He keeps this up until Kioshi flicks at the back of his ear, and they’re all laughing again—even if it feels strained and forced out of his own gut. Or maybe the fact that it isn’t forced at all is what makes Kyo feel as though he’s taking a punch.

It’s a quick cab ride to Odaiba once they’ve exhausted the perimeter of the park, and Kyo leads them to the ferris wheel there.

The line isn’t terribly long, considering it’s the middle of the weekday, and Hayami, Taiyo, and Kioshi start to make idle chatter with the middle-aged couple in front of them as they inch their way closer.

“I heard this is the tallest ferris wheel in the world,” Hayami says at one point in the conversation, and the man waves his hand in a gentle dismissal.

“That’s a common misconception. The _tempozan_ in Osaka has always been the tallest in Japan.”

Kyo happens to know for a fact that the man is wrong. When Odaiba’s _daikanransha_ first opened five years ago, it actually was the tallest in the world for almost a year. But Kyo has contentedly not said a word for the past twenty minutes, and he doesn’t feel like entering the conversation just to correct the man.

Kioshi is the most clearly excited when they finally board the ferris wheel. He won’t stop staring out the window, his stoic expression is battling with the wide eyes of a child in awe. Hayami also seems to notice this and smiles as they dangle in the sky over the vast, twinkling city. Taiyo makes a show of being terrified of heights and refuses to look out the window, even as Kioshi kicks at his leg and scolds him not to miss the view.

The city is soaked in hazy orange hues from the oncoming sunset, and some of the buildings are beginning to light up in the distance.

Kyo can’t bring himself to say much on the ride, and he’s grateful that the other three don’t press. At one point, they all sit silent as they look out into the city beyond. When they reach the very top, Kyo wonders how high he’d have to go to see the mountains in Yamagata.

——

Kyo wishes he could say that the subsequent couple days after his transformation had become an indistinguishable blur, but that would be a lie. Even as the world takes on a careening pace around him, it feels like every second since has been tattooed onto his ribs.

Kyo had been instructed to move to another room while Hatori managed what he could over the phone with the dojo masters. Even with the snow delaying the doctor’s arrival, it took no time at all for the steel grip of the Sohma family to return. Kyo realized just how deluded he’d been to think he’d ever slipped out of reach.

Hours passed in that isolated classroom, Kyo separated from whatever chaos he’d caused. Not even able to see whatever Hatori could dictate remotely—commands, bribes, maybe threats? By the time his master, Hayami, Kioshi, and Taiyo snuck their way into the classroom to see him, it was well past midnight with Kyo’s mind dizzy from running in circles all day.

The empty guilt had made it so when they pressed for answers, Kyo folded almost immediately.

They had all taken the story of the zodiac curse in different ways. His master proved himself to be a man not easily surprised and looked little more than pensive when Kyo concluded his tale. For Kioshi, confusion and frustration played out hand and hand on his scrunched up face, and Taiyo had the queasy, blank expression children get after hearing a ghost story.

Hayami was the only one who seemed to understand the story down to its root.

It was the next day when Hatori arrived to Yamagata with four other men.

They dressed in expensive suits, leather shoes, and had their graying hair tidily swept off their stern, unmoving faces. Kyo recognized one of them as the man who came to settle his mother’s will after she died.

Alongside them were two older looking maids. At the time Kyo’s stomach dropped at the thought that Akito might have come, too. The only times Kyo encountered the familiar uniform kimonos were at Sohma house where they hovered like gnats around their god. Luckily, the head of the family wasn’t present. Not that it would’ve mattered either way.

The men didn’t introduce themselves when they entered the classroom. They didn’t say anything about the presence of Kyo’s master or the three other disciples, even if their air of disapproval grew thick and heavy at the sight.

Hatori, under the watchful eye of the other men, asked Kyo question after question without so much as a greeting. Kyo could tell Hatori had a lot to say—there was an apologetic quiver to the interrogation, and waves of pity behind his one uncovered eye. Kyo’s answers were sharp and curt and left no room for conversation.

After that, the process was clinical.

Hatori and the men set themselves up in another nearby room. One by one people entered, and one by one the maids assisted disoriented figures someplace they could rest—away from those who had yet to have their memories erased.

Kyo wonders what Hatori tells them, how he convinces people to let him into their heads so he can rip away days and faces and words like a gardener pulling up weeds. Taiyo had mentioned that a couple police officers had arrived shortly after Kyo had been instructed to isolate himself, but it’s clear that their presence ushered more intrigue than fear, which implies that they weren’t sent by the Sohmas to intimidate or threaten.

Kyo wonders why he never hears a scream, or even an angry protest. The men in the well-tailored suits and indifferent expressions were far from physically intimidating, especially not against a hoard of masterfully trained martial artists.

If anything, there was a cynical confidence among the men that force wouldn’t be needed at all, and Kyo comes to the realization that maybe memories of him just aren’t worth the fight.

It was nearly three in the morning when Hatori let himself in again, and Kyo knew immediately what that meant. The stretch of the past few days had been torturous, but Kyo suddenly found himself surged with panic at the thought that they might actually end.

But Hayami had spoken before that panic was even given the chance to settle. The chair made a scraping noise against the floor as she stood, positioning herself almost protectively in front of Kyo, Kioshi, Taiyo, and their master.

“Wait—” Hayami’s throat sounded as dry as Kyo’s. “Wait, please.”

——

_“Give us a little more time at least,”_ she had said. _“Let us take him back to Tokyo. Please.”_

Hatori’s words had been quiet and careful when he asked if this would make the whole process harder.

Kyo still isn’t sure what the answer to that question is, but he stands by the _“fuck you”_ he’d given him in response.

——

Taiyo is the first to bring it up.

“Does it, uh—does it hurt?” It’s asked through a strained laugh, and the rest of the table look up from their meal.

“What?” Kyo asks.

“You know.” He shrugs. “The memory thing.”

His appetite shrivels at the question, and Kyo looks down at his half-eaten Indian curry.

They’re still in Odaiba, and from the window of the warmly-lit restaurant the neon flashes of the ferris wheel are still visible in the now fully darkened night. Kyo brought them here because it’s cheap compared to all the upscale restaurants in the area and because it’s the only food in Tokyo that he’s actually missed—go figure.

Kyo thinks if he throws up he probably won’t even be able to look at a piece of naan again, which means his ties to this city will have whittled even smaller.

“I don’t know,” Kyo finally answers. “I don’t think so.”

Taiyo hums at that, and Kioshi sets his spoon down with an aggressive _clack_ but otherwise says nothing. Hayami’s back to looking at Kyo all too closely.

“So you’ve never had to, uh…” Taiyo trails off.

“If I did, how would I remember?” Kyo gives flatly. Taiyo laughs at that.

“Oh, yeah.”

“And your memories? Will they have to do anything?” Hayami asks.

Kyo shakes his head.

“That’s good,” Taiyo says. “It’d be kind of sad if you forgot us, too.”

Now he definitely thinks he’s going to be sick. “Yeah.”

“Tai…” Hayami urges, clearly trying to coax the conversation a different way.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m probably not making things any better, but now seems as good of a time as any to let you know that, y’know, we’ll miss you. Right?” Taiyo looks pointedly at Hayami and Kioshi.

Kioshi’s sour expression doesn’t dissolve, but Hayami looks Kyo right in the eye when she says, “we will.”

_No, you won’t,_ Kyo thinks to himself immediately. That’s the whole problem.

“I will, too,” he admits instead. Taiyo gives him a smile.

“If you change your mind, we can still catch the last train up north,” Taiyo offers, his tone jarringly light despite everything.

“Not really my mind that would need to change,” he says.

“You could go on the lam. Plenty of people do that. Hey, if you need a place to hide you could go to my folks’ place. They’d love another mouth to feed— _ow_.” Taiyo’s leg jolts when Hayami steps on his foot, and Kyo can’t help but give an exhausted laugh in return.

“Hell no. What if I end up like you?”

Taiyo gives an offended click of his tongue through a smile. “At least I’ll be forgetting all the times you disrespected me.”

Taiyo shrivels under Hayami’s stern look, and Kyo finds he can take another bite of his meal without it threatening to come back up as acid.

——

Kyo can’t sleep, though that’s not a surprise. A part of him thinks about calling Tohru, but she doesn’t know he’s in town yet, he hasn’t even told Shishou. Kyo knows he won’t be able to resist her inevitable offer to see him immediately, and as much as he hates hiding things from her, Kyo can’t handle the thought of Tohru meeting everyone.

He quells the instinct by walking out into the cold, winter night in nothing but his t-shirt, sweats, and outdoor sandals provided by the inn. It’s cold, but nothing compared to those mountain nights.

“Hey,” comes a voice. Kyo turns to see Kioshi who joins him against the balcony railing of their room.

“Hey,” Kyo returns, keeping his voice quiet, hoping that no one else is woken up by the creaking floorboards under their weight.

“Can’t sleep?” Kioshi asks.

“‘Course not.” Kyo eyes Kioshi’s profile. His jaw is clenched. “You?”

“I heard you get up,” he says. “I thought I’d come out here and scold you.”

Kyo rolls his eyes. “Not interested.”

“If you don’t like what’s going on, just say something,” Kioshi says—ignoring him, of course.

Kyo only responds by letting his head drop, but Kioshi keeps pressing.

“Why are you just letting this happen?”

“You don’t get it,” Kyo grunts, feeling the exhausting of his voice seep through.

“No, I don’t,” Kioshi admits. “I’ve never been close to my family. When I left my grandmother’s house to study under our master, I only barely remembered to tell her and my dad that I’d be moving out. It was like we never bothered to matter to each other. So, no. I don’t get this. Just like I don’t get why Hayami won’t let herself just be _angry_ at her brother. Or why _you_ have to leave like this. You barely said anything when that cousin of yours took our master back to _forget you_. It’s not right.”

Kyo’s face scrunches at the implication that he’s _close_ with this rotted family, but he’s sure to bite his tongue.

Kioshi had been the least understanding of the bunch once Kyo had finished recounting the zodiac story. When he’d been told that his memories were going to be erased, he’d become downright volatile. He’d refused, at first, storming about the classroom they’d confined themselves in, ranting and shouting at Kyo before Hatori had even arrived.

It was terrifying. Kyo didn’t know what happened to people who disobeyed like that—to the people who _could_ disobey—but it wasn’t a challenge to imagine how brutal the retaliation might be.

Their master was the one to calm Kioshi in the end.

_“A family’s affairs are their own,”_ he’d said. Hayami was quick to agree, and one look from her had cemented Kioshi’s placation.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Kyo bites.

“I think we’re past the point of you saying anything,” Kioshi replies just as harshly, but then says nothing more. His jaw clenches even more somehow, and Kyo rolls his eyes again when he realizes that he’s still not done with whatever it is he has to say.

“What?” Kyo demands.

“Nothing.”

“If that’s all you gotta say, then I’m going inside.”

Kyo turns to leave, but one step back towards the room Kioshi speaks again. “Hang on.”

Kyo sighs, but turns to rest back against the railing. The chill of it feels like a bite against his skin. Kioshi doesn’t speak again until Kyo sends him an impatient, prompting look.

“I keep thinking I should confess to Hayami.” Kyo raises an eyebrow at him causing Kioshi to sigh. “Before tomorrow, I mean.”

“Is that why you agreed to get your memories erased? ‘Cause you want her to forget?”

“No. Of course not.” Kyo shrugs off the scathing look Kioshi shoots his way. “If I refused to go through with it—made things harder for you—I knew it would hurt her. More than this”—he makes a vague gesture—“already is.”

Kyo wants to say something like _‘it’s not her fault,’_ but he’s not there yet. Even if that sentiment isn’t fueled by anger and resentment—just exhaustion. Instead maybe he thinks he should say _‘I’m not angry with her,’_ but even that seems private—personal, somehow. Hayami has spent this past week silently understanding and aiding Kyo through this process, and acknowledging it aloud seems like a disservice somehow.

“What do you want? Advice?”

Kioshi lets out a dry, humorless huff of laughter. “Not from you.”

The moment settles between them. The information isn’t really new. He’s unwillingly held the knowledge of Kioshi’s feelings for Hayami since the earthquake. Kyo never asked to be so perceptive of Kioshi’s business, and Kioshi seems just as irritated with this in turn. So instead, Kyo just stands with him, waits for him to say whatever else he needs to before it all gets washed away tomorrow. Even if his toes are starting to go numb from the cold, and the goosebumps on his skin are starting to feel like needles.

“I keep wondering if that would make me a coward,” Kioshi eventually says, voice quiet like he’s talking to himself more so than Kyo.

“Confessing?”

Kioshi nods tightly.

“Yeah, it would.”

Kioshi hums, half irritation and half resignation. “And if I forget I wanted to confess at all?”

“I don’t think it works like that.” The uncertainty staining Kyo’s voice looks like answer enough to Kioshi, but Kyo isn’t sure in what direction.

“Maybe not,” he says.

Kyo gets an overwhelming urge to apologize, to say something that might ease how fragile and tense the air between them has become, but he can’t find the words to do so. Instead, he keeps Kioshi company on the balcony for as long as he stays out there. Kyo is shivering by the time they go back inside.

——

When they check out of the inn the next morning, a car is already waiting for them out front. Their white-gloved driver only speaks to greet them and assist them with their worn and tattered duffel bags that look out of place in the pristinely vacuumed trunk of the car. The drive is silent other than the sounds of calming breaths from Taiyo and the occasional turn signal.

Kyo’s chest contracts painfully when the gates of the main house come into view, and the iron-heavy thud of his heart only becomes even more frantic when Hatori leads them into his family clinic.

Hatori has arranged chairs in the hallway outside of his office, and they sit—Hayami, Kyo, Taiyo, and Kioshi in that order. Kyo tries not to notice that Hayami and Kioshi haven’t even looked at each other this morning.

“I’ll need to see each of you one at a time,” Hatori informs, voice straddling the line of sympathetic and professional. “If you need another moment…”

Kyo does. Another week. Another year. Another lifetime. All at once it’s too soon, but what good is it to say so? The four exchange looks with each other, but there doesn’t seem to be anything left to say or do. The blood drains from Kyo’s face when he shakes his head.

Hatori nods.

Taiyo goes in first. Five minutes later, Kioshi.

It’s just him and Hayami in the hallway, and after a moment she takes his hand and squeezes it in a way that reminds him of how his mother used to before getting a shot at the doctor.

“Kyo,” she says. “I am so sorry.”

He looks at her, oak-dark eyes glossed with tears she won’t let drop—that Kyo can tell she feels she’s not allowed to shed. He squeezes her hand back.

“It’s okay,” he says. Not because he forgives—he doesn’t, not yet. But because he knows he will, and because he knows he won’t get to tell her when that happens. She deserves to know that, even if it’s only for another few minutes.

“Here.” She uses her free hand to fish a folded up envelope from her pocket. Kyo’s name is scribbled on the back. “It’s easier for me to write things down, but you don’t have to read it.”

Kyo hesitates for a moment, but he accepts it. Maybe it’s the sight of her handwriting, or maybe it’s how flimsy and thin the letter feels under his fingers, but it causes the reality of this week to spill onto him like an upturned bucket.

The pain of it finally begins to build, but the ascension of it is as gentle as it is visceral. She squeezes his hand again as if she knows, and he thinks she does. In the same way she knew that if he came back Tokyo alone, he would break in a way that would be both sudden and unbearable.

Then, Hatori calls her into his office.

Kyo sits in the hallway alone, head bowed as he stares at the floor.

There’s only a shoji door separating him and Hatori’s office, but whatever Hatori does to them, it’s completely silent. Kyo futilely tries to strain his ears to listen, but in the end he can’t even tell when it happens.

Not until the soft slide of the door signals Hatori has come out to join him.

Kyo can feel the weight of Hatori’s stare on the back of his neck, he can feel it like it’s sweat on a muggy summer day. But he doesn’t care. He can’t look at him.

“It’s over,” Hatori says. A heaviness plaguing his voice that makes Kyo nauseous. “They’ll be taken to their hotel rooms when they wake up. Other than a day or two of feeling drowsy, they should be fine.”

Kyo keeps his eyes down, his fists clenching harder and harder until he can feel his fingernails sting into his palm.

He’s wound so tight, something coiling in his chest that makes it hurts to breathe, but Kyo realizes all at once that he has nowhere to fall apart. So he clenches the sharp, broken pieces of glass that make up his insides with a tension that cramps his legs and pounds against his temples in the form of an oncoming migraine.

Kyo stands abruptly, grabbing his jacket and storming away.

Hatori places a hand on his elbow, and Kyo violently shakes out of his hold, still refusing to look him in the eye.

“Kyo—”

“Don’t you _fucking_ talk to me,” Kyo snarls. When it’s clear that Hatori has nowhere to land his guilt-stricken gaze, he steps back.

Kyo storms out of the building, out of Sohma estate, out onto the city streets.

It’s loud and crowded and any sound of wind or nature or birds or trees are overrun by traffic and chatter and cross-walk beeps. The sounds of the city crunch together in jagged, screeching rhythm that feels suffocating from every direction. It wasn’t this loud yesterday. Odaiba didn’t sound like _this_.

Kyo hates it. He hates it here. He hates this city. He hates being in this place again. He hates Sohma estate and he hates Hatori and he hates this stupid, fucking life.

He punches a street light in a snarled frenzy, and immediately bends at the knees with a yowl of pain when the metal causes the bones in his fingers to break.

He stays there for a second, fist aching, body still taut, eyes squeezed shut and watering in the corner from the impact. His teeth clench around years worth of screams.

He lets a familiar anger flood his body in waves. He’s desperate for it to stay storming inside him. He needs it propping him up. He needs to hate everything else.

Because hating himself makes him so tired, and if he admits that now he’ll surely collapse and never get up again.

He hates Tokyo, he reassures himself as he stands.

——

Tohru asks him what happened to his hand when she insists on seeing him later that week. It’s wrapped up and he can’t clench it closed.

He doesn’t answer her, and they spend the rest of their dinner in silence.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you've all waited long enough for the boy

Kyo decides to stay with Shishou for awhile.

He doesn’t know for how long, or what he’ll be doing next. Being a part of the dojo activities is still too hard. It reminds him too much of the mountains, of memories he’s burdened to carry alone. So he spends most of his days at Kazuma’s house, far from the dojo, taking care of household chores with one good hand.

A malaise takes over his life. His morning runs become shorter. He lies on the floor for an hour staring at the ceiling. He reads the first page of a book over and over and over and over. He sits on the roof late into the night and wakes up tired the next morning. His showers last an hour some days because he can’t seem to find the energy to bring his arms up to shampoo his hair.

“It won’t be like this forever,” Kazuma tells him. “Time does heal.”

So far, Kyo has no evidence of that.

Things go from bad to worse after two weeks of being back.

He’s bringing back groceries. His right hand is still bandaged and broken, so the plastic straps of the bags dig into the skin of his left palm and forearm. It seems as though time has become an obstacle between tasks where he can actually feel useful, and cooking for Shishou is the one thing that keeps his mood from toppling completely.

It’s when he gets to the house that he sees someone lingering outside. Silver locks yank Kyo’s sluggish blood into a raging overdrive, and it’s enough to stop Kyo in his tracks with his fingers clenching angrily around his grocery bags.

Yuki is leaned into the door, as if trying to listen for something. His hand comes up to knock in an impatient manner that suggests he’s already knocked before. When there’s no answer, Kyo can see Yuki’s back expand and contract into a sigh, and then he’s turning around before Kyo can think to hide. Yuki’s eyes to go wide in mild surprise when he sees Kyo staring back at him.

What _the fuck_ is he doing here?

“Oh, Kyo,” Yuki says, sounding a little off-guard at seeing him so suddenly. Even though he’s the one at his fucking front door.

Kyo doesn’t answer. His face twists into a growl as he pushes past him, keys in his bandaged hand as he clumsily unlocks the door with a wince.

Kyo slips inside as soon as it opens, but Yuki’s hand is shooting up to catch the door just as Kyo tries to slam it shut.

“Hang on!” Yuki already sounds exasperated.

“Go away,” Kyo spits, trying to force the door closed. Yuki pushes back, and Kyo’s hand aches against the pressure, so after a moment Kyo relents and Yuki slides the door open with a jolt.

“I’m not here to bother you, I promise,” Yuki says. Kyo’s already heading inside and aggressively toeing off his shoes.

“Too late.”

His cold demeanor does nothing to dissuade Yuki who enters anyway.

“Kyo, we’re not kids anymore. You don’t have to act this way towards me.”

Kyo continues his petulant journey inside the house. Yuki toes off his shoes and follows him with an annoyed grunt.

“No one invited you in here,” Kyo says, heading to the kitchen.

“Believe me, you’ve made that very clear.”

“Apparently not, ‘cause you’re still not leaving.”

“Can you just give me a minute?”

“Fuck no.”

_“Kyo.”_ An annoyed edge bleeds into Yuki’s tone, but even with Kyo’s back turned to him—pretending to sort and put away groceries—he can hear Yuki take in a deep, grounding inhale. When he talks again, the words sound like sandpaper against his teeth. “I’m not here to fight. Let me just—if you let me talk, I will leave.”

Kyo knows Yuki can be a real stubborn son of a bitch when he wants to be, and now that he’s in his house Kyo doubts he’ll be leaving anytime soon. If only out of spite.

And, really, Kyo can’t dislodge the foul curiosity over what’s brought Yuki here today. So he turns to face him.

“What do you want?” Kyo asks.

Yuki stares back at him as he considers his words, and in the silence Kyo suddenly becomes hyperaware of the heavy, bruising bags under his own eyes. Of the exhausted slur snaking beneath his speech. He doesn’t want to be seen like this, and especially not by Yuki.

“Tohru told me what happened to you.”

Kyo keeps his stare hard and unwavering. It takes a moment for Yuki to realize that Kyo isn’t going to respond.

“I just… wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“That it?” Kyo asks.

“No, it’s not,” Yuki says flatly. Kyo gives him an impatient cross of his arms. “When I was younger something similar happened to me. I was… playing with some children in the garden—friends from school. One of them tripped, and…” the words look like they stall uncomfortably in Yuki’s throat. He swallows it down. “All of their memories had to be erased. It was a difficult time.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Kyo forces out of himself.

“I just thought you might need…” Yuki rolls his eyes. “A friend.”

Kyo snorts.

“Someone to talk to, at least.”

“Pass.”

“I’m serious,” Yuki insists. “You don’t have to deal with this on your own—”

“So what if I do? Huh? What’s it goddamn matter to you?” Kyo snaps, and Yuki’s expression dissolves into something absolutely pitying. Kyo could kill him right here.

“It matters. It. Just does,” Yuki says with a finality that means Kyo isn’t going to get any further explanation than that. Not that he needs one. Tohru must have planted the whole stupid idea in his head, but Kyo’s not going to fall for this again.

“I don’t need your help. Just get out.”

Yuki looks annoyed again, or really he hasn’t stopped looking annoyed since he got here. But there’s something else warring beneath him. Something that’s making it hard for him to turn around and leave. And Kyo makes sure everything in his body is guarded and cut-off. He makes sure Yuki knows that there’s nothing that will change or soften Kyo’s expression. Kyo refuses to lose this battle.

So Yuki turns, tongue bitten in his mouth, and walks out of the kitchen. Out of this house and out of Kyo’s life.

Kyo sighs when he’s finally gone, letting his shoulders slump in exhaustion, and feeling the task of putting away the rest of the groceries daunting over him. He doesn’t want to do anything, but if he falls into that mindset he knows it’ll be all the harder to claw himself out of it. He has to at least be able to cook, at least be able to do _something_ while—

“No, I’m not going to leave,” Yuki storms back in, posture in a fighting stance. Kyo can’t scrape together his shielding glare in time at being caught so off guard. “I understand that being angry and childish makes everything easier, but despite your best efforts I refuse to believe you’re still _that_ immature. So… swallow your pride and get it through your thick head that you’re not alone in this.”

Kyo stares at him, takes him in for the first time in so long. He hasn’t seen Yuki since the banquet almost a year ago now. And it’s clear as day that Yuki’s changed. His face has thinned, his hair is a little shorter, his eyes are open and honest. He’s not guarded like he was at the beginning of high school. He’s not cold and passive. He’s direct and clear—seeds that were planted in high school that have sprouted while Kyo was gone.

Kyo reigns himself back in, terrified that he doesn’t know what expression he’s making until he contorts it back into a weak scowl.

“Screw you,” he tries. It feels like nothing more than a match that won’t light next to Yuki’s fiery words.

Yuki just rolls his eyes. “Have dinner with me and Tohru tomorrow. If you stick around here too long you’ll become a nuisance to Shi-han.”

Kyo tosses a glare to Yuki, whose piercing stare doesn’t leave any room for negotiation.

This is a bad idea. Even with Tohru as a buffer this is a bad idea.

But is it so terrible that Kyo’s too tired to stop himself from caring?

“Whatever. If you’ll just leave.”

Yuki waits until Kyo looks up at him before he smiles, nods, and turns around without another word. Kyo waits until he hears the door close before he rushes over to the entryway to lock it for good.

——

Later that night, Kyo presses the home phone to his ear.

_“Hello?”_ Comes Tohru’s chipper voice on the other end of the line.

“You told him what happened,” Kyo accuses, but he’s careful not to raise his voice. Tohru goes quiet for a long moment.

_“Are you mad?”_

Kyo pinches the bridge of his nose. “I dunno yet.” Though he certainly sounds angry.

_“Kyo—”_

“Keep him away from me.”

Tohru takes another beat before responding—long since knowing how to approach his choked up, distant calls. _“After tomorrow?”_

Kyo’s hand clenches against the phone. “Fine.”

With that, he hangs up.


End file.
